


It’s Alright (Even if You Hate me Again)

by zimriya



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Inception Fusion, Codependency, Crimes & Criminals, Lies, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Power Imbalance, Secrets, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2020-04-08 06:14:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 92,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19101346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zimriya/pseuds/zimriya
Summary: Changmin prides himself on being South Korea’s Pointman--the one who knows all the secrets of East Asian dreamshare, no matter how big, or small. He also prides himself on having his main partner Yunho’s back, for better or for worse. So when an old friend from their military days shows up with an inception job, Changmin has no choice but to follow Yunho’s reckless lead. But shared dreams aren’t a one-way street, and it turns out, the mark isn’t the only one with secrets.





	1. The Beginning | August 2018

**Author's Note:**

  * For [easterlystars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/easterlystars/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Scar, who once upon a time made the mistake of telling me ‘I saw Inception in theaters like five times,’ and who is my 1) first TVXQ friend and 2) deserves the world. ~~Somehow, I’ll put JYP in this fic for you.~~
> 
> Betaed by Hexmen, whose head may hurt b/c of Inception, but who loves me enough to edit anyway.
> 
> Here is the universe [primer](https://zimriya.tumblr.com/inceptionau).

The news comes to them in the form of Kim Heechul, and Changmin honestly wants to slam the hotel room door in the man’s face.

He could get away with it. Yunho and Changmin are post-job—an easy, smash-and-grab type extraction for a subsidiary of the Shilla Hotel that has them reaping the benefits in the form of a particularly lovely VIP suite—and neither of them are particularly wanting for cash, let alone employment opportunities. Moreover, Heechul-hyung has, last Changmin cared to check, remained one of the few people from before who not only remained in contact with they who shall not be named, but also happened to pull a job with them on his last stint in Osaka.

Dreamshare is no place for grudges, but it’s also no place for double-crosses, and Changmin thinks he’d be justified if he decided to start burning bridges.

Also, Heechul-hyung is always just too smug, especially when faced with people he knows as well as he knows Yunho and Changmin.

“Changdol,” he says when he sees Changmin, then steps forward pointedly so that the only way Changmin’s slamming the door is if he’s also willing to break a few toes in the process.

Changmin grinds his teeth. “Heechul-hyung,” he says.

Heechul-hyung’s smile, if possible, gets smugger.

Changmin bites back the urge to put him in a cast. “It’s been so long,” he says. “Do come in.”

Heechul-hyung is already stepping into the hotel suite, staying dutifully in the entryway like he’s waiting for Changmin to offer him slippers, or something. “I hope you don’t mind my coming by unannounced,” he says. “I know how you get about information.”

Changmin bites back the rather uncharitable first thought he has, namely, that the idea that anyone in the dreamshare community might surprise Changmin (and by proxy Yunho) by arriving somewhere without him knowing beforehand isn’t just laughable; it’s downright insulting.

“You used a new alias on your flight here,” Changmin says instead. “What happened to your old one? Did you burn it in Osaka?” He smiles, but it’s his sharp smile. The smile he used to give his superiors in the army; the smile he gave Yunho, the day they first met.

Heechul-hyung stares back at him for a long moment, before grinning. He bats at Changmin playfully, much like a lion would a cub.

Changmin can’t help but go belly up in response, smiling much more earnestly back at him and finally reaching around for a pair of slippers. They’re still sealed in the plastic, and Heechul-hyung rips them open audibly right in the entryway. Changmin takes the proffered garbage and chucks it neatly into the trash can, sighing.

“So,” says Heechul-hyung, sliding out of his dress shoes with the sort of fluid ease Changmin knows he’s known for. “Where’s your other half?”

And whatever good mood Changmin managed to scrounge up for him immediately evaporates. He scowls. “What do you want, Hyung—”

“Yurobbong,” Heechul-hyung calls, not nearly loud enough to be heard all the way in the rest of the hotel suite.

Last Changmin checked, Yunho was ruminating over their payment information in one of the en suites, fresh off a shower and not at all dressed. There’s no way he can hear Heechul-hyung.

Heechul-hyung seems undeterred. “Come say hello to your favorite Hyung, Yurobbong,” he says.

Changmin’s left eye twitches. “Changmin,” he says, pointing at his own chest. “Heechul.” He points at Heechul-hyung. “We’ve been over this, Hyung, come on.”

Heechul-hyung stops braying for Yunho and grins up at Changmin. “I’m letting that little moment of insubordination lapse simply because you’re pretending to be Jane from _Tarzan_ ,” he tells Changmin pleasantly, somehow managing to walk past Changmin in the admittedly tiny entryway without touching him at all; forgers, Changmin thinks darkly; too shifty for their own good.

He follows after him. “What?” he protests. “ _Tarzan—_ ”

“No, Jane,” says Heechul-hyung, glancing around at the expensive vases and furniture and paintings. “I really wouldn’t have pegged you for the girl, personally, but I suppose it’s good you’re finally getting in touch with your feminine side.” He shoots Changmin a knowing look, then flicks his hair out of his eyes in a move that would look insulting and also absurd, if Changmin didn’t know what it looked like when Heechul-hyung was an actual woman.

“You—” he tries.

“Although, you did have that stint back in the army when you couldn’t be in a dream without long, flowing, _blond—_ ”

Changmin finally accepts defeat, crossing quickly to stand in front of Heechul-hyung and shouting for Yunho now, “Hyung! We have company!” in an attempt to keep Heechul-hyung from finishing that sentence. There’s a thud, like Yunho’s stood suddenly and bumped his head on the low ceilings; Changmin raises his voice again: “Not bad company! Like. It’s just Heechul-hyung. Nobody’s come to kill us.”

Heechul-hyung gasps. “How dare you,” he says. “I’m the best company—”

“It’s your fault I had long hair, anyway,” says Changmin, flushing and glaring despite himself. He can hear Yunho making his way towards them. “You’re the one who _infected_ me.”

“Now, now, Changminnie, the proper term is _incepted—_ ”

Changmin feels like the room’s temperature has cooled by three degrees, but he keeps his head held high. “Shut up,” he says, voice steely.

Heechul-hyung’s eyes glint. “Oh, so you have heard,” he says evenly.

Changmin starts doing a mental tally on how many weapons he and Yunho currently have access to in the suite, and then calculates how long it would take to get to just one.

“I guess that ruins the surprise, then—Yurobbong!” Heechul-hyung shouts for the third time, and this time Changmin gives in and shoves him, hard until the older man is up against the wall and Changmin can lean in and snarl.

“I will _kill_ you,” he starts to say, at the same time Yunho finally reaches them.

“We’ve really got work on your communication skills, Changdol. ‘We’ve got company’? Really? You’re going to give me a heart attack. Oh—Changdol? Heechul-hyung?” He stops, frozen awkwardly in front of them both, one hand still straightening the buttons on his button down, the other dangling uselessly in front of him.

Not that uselessly, Changmin thinks, remembering how quickly the man had been to draw when they were on the job—the Anan Job, as Yunho called it. Other than the dress shirt, Yunho’s wearing jeans and has bare feet, with water dripping from his hair onto the carpet.

“Changminnie?” he says.

Changmin steps away from Heechul-hyung without meeting either of their eyes, tragically chastened despite the fact that all Yunho’s done is frown at him.

To his credit, Heechul-hyung just clears his throat and spreads his arms. “Yurobbong,” he says again.

To _his_ credit, Yunho snaps out of it immediately. He lets go of his shirt sleeve and grins, dimples popping in the corners of his mouth. “Heerobbong!” he says gleefully, stepping in close to give Heechul-hyung a boisterous, enthusiastic hug.

Heechul-hyung hugs back, but winces. “Alright, I’ll admit I walked right into that one,” he says. “But I’d like to remind you Donghae contributed significantly to the name itself—”

Yunho perks up, clearly still high on the post-job endorphins. “Donghae?” he says. “How is he? Have you seen him?”

“Running routine info grabs with Hyukjae-hyung and Amber,” Changmin mutters immediately, unable to help himself. Partly it’s that he knows; partly it’s that it’s always hard to break out of the post-job mold. When they’re breaking the law and breaking into people’s minds, Changmin knows it all and Yunho says “what’s the mark’s favorite shampoo?” with the express assumption that Changmin’s already bought them samples.

Right now, Yunho is looking at Changmin with a softness in his expression that has Heechul-hyung smiling and sets Changmin’s skin itching.

He rubs fruitlessly at the back of his neck like that’ll help and refuses to meet both of their eyes. Again. “Fuck off,” he mutters. He’s blushing. Heechul-hyung is _smirking_.

“I didn’t say anything,” the older man says. “Did you say something, Yurobbong?”

Yunho’s head tilts to the side curiously, which isn’t cute. It’s just annoying. Changmin finds it annoying. Changmin doesn’t think about the month before, about the year before, about when he saw it last.

“No,” Yunho says.

“Fuck you both,” Changmin says, still flushing.

Heechul-hyung tops off his smirk with a wink, before settling a hand on Yunho’s arm. “But you’ll never guess what I heard, Yunho-yah,” he says, steering him back towards the sitting room.

Their hotel suite has a sitting room, which is hilarious all on its own, and something Changmin had enjoyed when they’d seen it initially. Now, he kind of wishes it was just two beds and some suitcases, because the open space makes it all the more apparent when he follows after his seniors and situates himself purposefully between Yunho and the open window.

If Heechul-hyung notices (which he does; he’s as military trained as the rest of them) he says nothing, just sits down in the empty armchair and leans on one elbow, eyes flinty and secretly pleased.

“What did you hear, Hyung?” asks Yunho finally.

It’s good he’s the one asking. If Changmin asked, he might be likely to grab the knife he taped under the table and start throwing.

“You’ll never guess who’s staying in your hotel,” says Heechul-hyung. It’s not an answer to Yunho’s question, but Yunho doesn’t seem bothered, just sits in his own chair and steeples his fingers in front of his mouth so that he can stare back at Heechul-hyung.

Changmin’s fingers flex around non-existent weaponry automatically, and he heaves a long sigh. “Saito Itsuki,” he says, in answer, once it becomes clear Heechul-hyung is going to be _that_ asshole and make him do it. “The former CEO of Proculus Global.” He knows Yunho knows that already, but clarifies anyway to make a point. He’s showing off in front of Heechul-hyung, because it might have been almost ten years, but part of Changmin is still fresh out of university and eager to please.

“Huh,” says Yunho. “Why is he in Seoul?”

Heechul-hyung palms over his jaw and straightens. “Why indeed,” he says. He doesn’t answer that question either, just flicks his gaze between Yunho—pensive, and honestly curious—and Changmin—rattled, and honestly trigger-happy. “He was down in the hotel bar,” he says. “Getting very drunk.”

Changmin mulls that over, filing it away for best use. He shifts, still not ready to sit down at Yunho’s side, but also not willing to be found hovering over Yunho’s shoulder like some sort of overbearing father.

Heechul-hyung glances at him briefly again. “Yep,” he says, looking back at Yunho. “He’s a very friendly drunk,” he adds. “Very eager to share.”

Yunho frowns. “Wasn’t he forced out?” he says. “A few years ago?”

Changmin nods, resigned to his fate. He sinks into the chair turned perpendicular between them, ignoring the way Heechul-hyung’s lips quirk. “Yes,” he says. “Very big, for energy anyway.”

Yunho’s mouth turns down even more.

“His sister is in charge.”

“Maeda Ayame,” Heechul-hyung says, leaning forward again and balancing his unfairly pretty chin in one palm. “Very pretty. Very scary.”

Changmin ruffles through his mental rolodex, bringing up the woman in question.

“I met her also,” Heechul-hyung says before he can comment. “Briefly.”

Yunho appears to be mulling that all over, biting at his bottom lip.

“Anyway, I didn’t come here to tell you that the energy sector’s biggest moguls are buying drinks in your hotel bar,” says Heechul-hyung.

“Thank God for that,” mutters Changmin, crossing his arms.

The man ignores him. “I came here to tell you what it was Saito was _saying_ , when he was buying drinks in your hotel bar.”

Changmin’s shoulders stiffen and he makes to stand. “Hyung—”

“He said that he did _inception_ ,” Heechul-hyung continues, ignoring Changmin in earnest now. He leans in closer, fully aware that he’s got Yunho hook, line, and sinker, and totally uncaring of how tense Changmin’s gotten, how tightly the muscles in his shoulders have coiled, how quickly he could get his hands on a knife. “Eight years ago,” Heechul-hyung says. “In 2010. Fischer Morrow.”

Changmin’s teeth grind together again.

“The energy conglomerate?” Yunho asks, forehead scrunching up adorably. “Didn’t they split up—”

“Eight years ago,” Heechul-hyung affirms, finally leaning back in his chair. “In 2010.” He looks smug. “Saito said he got Fischer’s son to dissolve the company. By using inception.”

Changmin wants to knock his arrogant teeth in.

“But then he was very drunk,” Heechul-hyung says. He shoots Yunho a conspiratory look. “You know how men like that are when they’re drunk.”

Yunho’s nodding before Changmin can even begin to digest that.

“And it’s the worst kept secret that Proculus has people caught up in dreamshare—”

“Dreamcades don’t count as dreamshare,” Changmin spits, finally unable to help himself. “Hyung—”

“Besides if it was true, I’d think Changminnie would know first,” Heechul-hyung says, and now he turns the full brunt of his gaze on Changmin.

When Changmin was a kid, fresh out of university—not even out of university—and still striving to be perfect and noticed and brave, that look used to make his stomach twist in knots and his forehead break out into a sweat. That look was why he tried his hand at forging in the first place, why he ended up sporting a blond mullet for the better half of 2008.

“Isn’t that right, Changminnie?” says Heechul-hyung. His eyes never waver.

Changmin lifts his chin and glares right back. “There were rumors,” he says, and doesn’t flinch when Yunho turns to look at him with betrayal simmering around the edge of his gaze. “Americans.” He shrugs, like he and Yunho always do when faced with the global scale of their job, of the war-time peace that brought dream technology to Korea in the first place. “I didn’t see the point of mentioning it.”

What he doesn’t say is that they’ve only been on their own for barely a month, and no way would he have brought it up before that. The jobs they worked after their unruly split from the army weren’t sophisticated; they were lucrative, and purposefully so, since an unlawful discharge wasn’t likely to do you any favors when trying to find places to sleep and food to eat. Seven years out and Changmin’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop, still sleeping with a bag packed in case he and Yunho have to go somewhere without extradition.

He swallows. “I didn’t see the point in saying anything, Yunho-hyung,” is his explanation.

Yunho takes it, clearly displeased, but willing to let it lie.

Changmin thinks that’s because the Anan Job went so well, and because their bank accounts are so much fuller for it.

“It would certainly explain a lot,” Heechul-hyung says, looking between the two of them with an unnerving amount of insight. When Yunho blinks at him, he elaborates, “about Proculus. And Fischer Morrow.”

Yunho hums, clearly not all the way distracted from his earlier displeasure.

Changmin has to dig his palms into his thighs to keep from apologizing—he doesn’t need to apologize, not for this. “Well, if that’s all you wanted to say, Hyung—”

“I was just in the area,” Heechul-hyung says. “Thought I’d stop by.”

Yunho shoots Changmin a look, but this time it’s pure mischief. “I thought you said nobody would know we were home, Changminnie,” he says.

Changmin sticks his tongue out at him. “I let you pick the name,” he says. “You obviously weren’t trying hard.”

“Jung-ssi and Jung-ssi,” Heechul-hyung agrees. “Very creative, Yunho-yah. Ahead of your time.”

Changmin sputters. “This room is booked under Jung-ssi and Jung-ssi?” he gapes. “Yunho-hyung!”

Yunho lifts both hands. “It’s called hiding in plain sight, Changmin-ah!” he defends. “Shilla is very discrete—”

“Only because they’re paying us to steal corporate secrets,” Changmin snaps, then looks furiously towards Heechul-hyung. “I will end you—”

Heechul-hyung waves a hand. “Yeah, yeah. I make enough money without needing to trade on your reputation as well as my own, Changmin-ah,” he says loftily. “Declaw.”

Changmin resists the urge to growl at him.

Yunho snorts, clearly amused. “I’m glad you stopped by, Heechul-hyung,” he says. “I missed you.”

And now things are awkward because it’s not like Heechul-hyung has been anywhere, save Singapore, and Lisbon, and _Japan_ , colluding with monsters. He could have stopped by any time, hell, Changmin and Yunho could have worked with him any time, but then, they couldn’t, if they wanted to avoid unnecessary dramatics and further disruption of the criminal dreamshare community in Seoul.

“Ah, yeah,” says Heechul-hyung, subdued.

Yunho coughs, covering his mouth and looking withdrawn.

Changmin shuts his eyes for a brief second, before heaving a long sigh. “Yeah,” he says finally, opening his eyes but not looking at Yunho. “It was nice to see you, Heechul-hyung.” It’s a concession, not a forgiveness, but Changmin doesn’t doubt the look Yunho gives him then could rival shoujo manga.

He ignores it, focusing instead on Heechul-hyung.

The older man stands, making a show of his bones cracking and creaking. “It was good to see me,” he agrees, with an over-exaggerated grin. “I am just that good.”

Changmin rolls his eyes, but stands as well. “Yeah, yeah,” he says.

“We were actually just leaving, anyway,” says Yunho, rising from his seat after them. “Unless you wanted to try the hotel bar again…” He trails off, waggling his eyebrows.

Heechul-hyung gives him a sweet, near-besotted smile. “The energy moguls all left, I’m afraid,” he says. “Sorry, Yurobbong.”

Yunho grins back. “No worries, Heerobbong.”

Heechul-hyung jabs a finger in the middle of Yunho’s chest. “Stop calling me that, Yurobbong.”

“Not a chance, Heerobbong.”

Changmin rolls his eyes and brings up the rear as Yunho shows Heechul-hyung out, taking back the hotel slippers, and slapping him good-naturedly on the back as the other man disappears out of sight around a corner.

“Ten thousand won he charms his way into someone else’s room and goes out the fire escape,” Changmin says, looking after him with nostalgia he can’t help.

“I might as well pay you ten thousand won,” Yunho says, pulling their hotel door shut. “Are you ready to go?”

Changmin blinks, then looks down at Yunho’s bare feet. “You’re not wearing socks.”

Yunho sighs, then rolls his eyes. “Changdol.”

Changmin tries not to shiver when he does that, instead crossing the room to start collecting the various weapons he’s stashed around the suite. “I’m more packed than you are,” he says, pulling the knife from under a table and thinking about the state of Yunho’s carry on, last he saw it. The only time Changmin likes to unpack is if they’re staying somewhere non-commercial, and the Anan Job hadn’t taken more than two days of prep and one hour of dream time. By contrast while Yunho can live out of suitcases like the best of them, he’s definitely rebelled from their time with Project Somnacin by throwing all of that (and all of his clothes) out the window. And suitcase. Or whatever bag he happens to have on hand.

The knife, pepper spray, and throwing star Changmin’s kept since they last had a run in with Kyuhyun are easily palmed, but not so easily explained to cleaning staff, so Changmin’s glad they’re leaving so soon. He sighs, then looks back over at Yunho, one brow raised.

The man hasn’t moved to get socks or pack his clothes, and is instead staring at Changmin with a tiny, beautiful smile. “You’re a menace to society, Changdol-ah,” he says, eyes on Changmin’s handful of weaponry.

Changmin blushes despite himself and looks down. “Why are you in such a hurry to leave?”

That sobers Yunho. “Ah, actually, Siwonnie contacted me?” he says.

Changmin blinks. “Siwon-hyung?”

“Choi Siwon. From Somancin?” Yunho explains, like Changmin was ever going to forget who anyone was while Yunho remembered. “Boryung Energy’s Siwon. Turns out, he’s back in Seoul on business, and wanted to meet up.” He shrugs. “It sounded urgent.”

Changmin frowns, since it’s odd to mention not one but two energy superpowers in one day, but also because he hasn’t heard from Choi Siwon since the man served alongside him in 2009. They were part of the same batch of soldiers, though Changmin went right into dream testing after basic training, and Siwon felt his way there several weeks later after a few failed attempts at placement and more than his fair share of ribbing. Being the son of Choi Kiho would do that, Changmin figured. Boryung Energy may not have the global clout that Fisher Morrow and now Proculus had, but it was still a big deal in the energy sector.

Changmin wonders if they’re both at this hotel for a reason.

Or—

“Did he want to meet here?” Changmin says, crossing around Yunho to grab a complimentary water bottle and popping the cap off with a pleasant hiss. “At Shilla Seoul?”

Yunho nods, then replies so that Changmin can hear. “Yeah, actually. Why, is that weird?”

Changmin puffs his cheeks out like he’s seen Yunho do for years, then swallows hard when he catches the man staring at him with serious eyes. He can practically hear waves, practically hear taunting, and licks his lips nervously in hopes of forgetting. “Well, only because Heechul-hyung just saw Saito,” he says, in answer to Yunho’s question.

“And Ayame,” Yunho mumbles, remembering.

“And Ayame.” Changmin nods, walking back across the room to offer Yunho the bottle.

Yunho takes it, clearly still thinking, and drinks almost in a perfect mirror to what Changmin did before. “Siwon said eight,” he says.

Changmin checks his watch. “We’ve got ten minutes.”

Yunho finishes with the water bottle and crunches it with both hands.

Changmin sighs. “I suppose you’ll want to leave the bags here so we can make a proper appearance at the bar?” he says.

Yunho looks at him, smirking. “Suit and tie,” he agrees.

Changmin sighs again, but is grateful he left their tuxes hanging in the closet.

“You’re the one with the ridiculous rules, Changmin-ah,” Yunho says, as Changmin heads back towards the bedroom and their stuff.

“It’s called professionalism, Yunho-hyung,” he says as he goes, not even bothering to call over his shoulder, just raising his voice. “People pay us for discretion—to get the job done. What good is that if there’s a clear trail between the client, the mark, and us in the same place the night before the valuable information got into the wrong hands?”

He can practically hear Yunho rolling his eyes. “Yeah, okay, Changminnie, whatever you say.”

“I do say,” Changmin says, pulling open the closet and grabbing his tuxedo. “Now get dressed—Siwon-hyung hates it when people are late.”

“Spoil sport,” Yunho calls.

Changmin shudders, tries not hear the crash of waves, and takes the suit jacket off the hanger.

 

* * *

 

“Yunho-hyung! Changmin-ah!” says Choi Siwon, when he sees them. “It’s good to see you both!” He stands, as magnanimous as Changmin remembers, so he can pull them both in for a hug.

Changmin goes, shoulders clanking with Yunho’s, and tries to keep smiling politely. “Siwon-hyung, hi,” he says.

“Siwon-ah, _hi_ ,” Yunho says, and is considerably more happy about it than Changmin.

Siwon-hyung pulls away from them with another amused laugh, and then settles into the booth he’s selected for them with an almost weary sigh.

Changmin catalogues that before he can help himself, finds himself looking at the state of Siwon-hyung’s tie—knotted in his usual double Windsor, but matched so perfectly to his suit jacket that it can’t have been his own doing—and the drink in Siwon-hyung’s hand—soju, but the good kind, poured to three fingers in a hotel grade shot glass—like a roadmap to why they’re here and why he’s called them.

“It’s good to see you both,” Siwon-hyung says again, but less happily this time, and more lonesome and half-drunk.

Changmin’s eyes narrow and he doesn’t think Siwon-hyung’s really drunk anything, but old habits die hard, and he and Yunho have already spent far too much time at the scene of their crime. “You too,” he says. “Have you been well?” Changmin hates small talk, and between Heechul-hyung and Siwon-hyung it feels like that’s all he’s done since the job ended.

Siwon-hyung is nodding, none the wiser though. “Yeah,” he says. “Business has been good.”

Siwon-hyung enlisted straight out of college before his father could ship him off to business school, found a knack for extraction instead of nuclear reactions, but ultimately discharged in twenty-one months and left them with a salute and a promise to call when possible. As far as Changmin knows, Siwon-hyung’s been working for his father making Boryung Energy a rival for Proculus Global.

“That’s good,” Yunho says, since Changmin’s too busy being a pointman to keep a conversation going. “I’m glad to see you, too.”

That earns them a smile from Siwon-hyung, but this time it’s sharp-edged and not at all real.

Changmin shifts uneasily in his seat, frowning.

“I’m getting married,” says Siwon-hyung suddenly, not looking at either of them. He swirls his alcohol around his glass. “Next July,” he adds.

Of all the things he could have said, Changmin was not expecting that. “What?” he says.

“I’m getting married,” Siwon-hyung says again, meeting Changmin’s eyes this time. If that was supposed to make things easier or make Changmin less uncomfortable, it misses by a margin.

Changmin thinks he and Yunho should call over a waiter and order their own drinks.

“Congratulations,” Yunho says finally, after a too-long pause. “Siwon-ah. I’m happy for you—”

Changmin’s mouth opens before he can stop himself. “But you’re gay,” he says, well aware he’s putting his foot in his mouth, yet unable to stop himself. Siwon-hyung’s getting married? Siwon-hyung? Siwon-hyung’s crisis of faith and/or sexuality was the highlight of the end of 2009, honestly, and despite that—despite the fact that Siwon-hyung left the army supposedly at peace with both things—Changmin’s having far too much trouble reconciling that with the man’s announcement.

Yunho hits him.

Changmin takes that hit, a bit flustered, but ultimately holding it together. “Sorry. Hyung.”

Siwon-hyung shrugs. “Maeda Kaito is a man,” he says.

Already the name is pinging in Changmin’s internal rolodex of information—Maeda Kaito, son of Maeda Ayame, formerly Saito, heir apparent to Proculus Global—and everything starts to make a lot more sense.

“Maeda Kaito,” Yunho says, shifting in his seat in a way that looks casual, but is totally a front for surveying the room.

Changmin lets him do it, fully aware that the only people within hearing distance are speaking English and failing to use chopsticks.

“Isn’t that the son of—”

“Maeda Ayame? Yes,” Siwon-hyung says, swirling his drink another few times. He doesn’t take a sip, but Changmin can tell he wants to. “I’ve been very lucky,” he says, looking at nothing. “My father has been incredibly supportive.”

Changmin pulls up whatever he has about Choi Kiho, Boryung Energy, and frowns. “He’s bartering you off like cattle,” he says frankly. “Siwon-hyung.”

Yunho shoves him again.

“It’s quite a dowry,” Siwon-hyung says. He finally takes his shot. “Proculus is—” He swallows. “Proculus is a good investment, a good partner, and Kaito-san is—” He snorts, laughs despondently. “ _Like_ _me_.”

Changmin’s not touching that at all, but clearly Yunho has no such qualms.

“It’s not legal in Seoul, or Tokyo,” he says.

Siwon-hyung shrugs. “It will be in Taiwan soon,” he says, meeting both their eyes. “Father isn’t worried about that.”

Changmin kind of wants to knock some sense into him, but clearly Yunho is the brains of their operation, because he takes Siwon-hyung by the hand, and finally Siwon-hyung stops looking quite so broken and drained.

“Sorry, Siwon-ah,” he says.

Siwon-hyung squeezes Yunho’s hand and smiles, even though it’s tiny and almost forced. “No, it’s fine,” he says.

It’s not fine.

“I—well.” He looks around, then switches seamlessly into Japanese without pause. “I’d like to hire you, actually.”

Changmin had started thinking it was good Siwon-hyung was so fluent because his new husband probably wasn’t as fluent in Korean, but he very quickly backtracks to the conversation once he hears Siwon-hyung. “I’m sorry, you’d what?” He’s speaking Japanese but it’s not polished and kind of a mess.

“I’d like to hire you,” Siwon-hyung says again, looking beseechingly across the table at Yunho and Changmin. “To—”

Changmin’s stomach sinks below sea level.

“For _inception_ ,” Yunho realizes, not even looking at Changmin. He leans across the table and stares at Siwon-hyung with actual stars in his eyes, even as Changmin is losing it and clutching the table top so hard it should shatter.

Siwon-hyung nods. “I want you to convince Kaito-san to break off the engagement,” he says quietly, then winces. “I—should I have not used your number to ask you here?”

Changmin thinks that over, grasping frantically at the question as a welcome distraction to the buzzing in his ears. That’s the number Yunho’s parents have if they ever need him, but faking a lost phone or a bad phone plan is a staple of 2018, and Changmin thinks they can get away with burning the phone. “No,” he manages.

“Good,” Siwon-hyung says over top his words.

“Siwon… _Inception_ ,” Yunho says, voice gone all hushed and whispering.

Changmin wants to take him by both shoulders and give him a shake. “It’s impossible,” he says sharply, back in Korean, and glaring.

Siwon-hyung seems taken aback, but then his chin juts out. “I can pay,” he says.

“It’s not about money,” Changmin tries to say.

“It’s possible,” Yunho says. “Heechul-hyung said—” He breaks off, clearly cowed at having mentioned Heechul-hyung, but clearly uncertain for how to proceed.

Changmin doesn’t pretend to understand the intricacies of the other man’s mind sometimes. He says, “Siwon-hyung, if you’ll excuse us for a second?” and then takes Yunho by the arm and _hauls_ , until he’s dragged him off a few meters and can whisper furiously at him in the shadows. “What are you _doing_?”

“Siwonnie needs our help,” Yunho hisses back, frowning and rubbing at the hold Changmin has on his arm. “Changmin—”

“We are _not_ doing inception,” Changmin says. His heart jumps in his chest but he holds it together through force of will. “Not aga—” He breaks off, smarting. “We are not doing inception.”

Yunho is staring at him with his mouth turned down and his eyes ablaze. “Oh, we aren’t?” he says. He’s using that tone. The tone that made him squad leader, got him special honors and actual job offers, and kept him in the army long after his own twenty-one months and all the way into 2011, when they made like the Americans and ran off with a PASIV.

Changmin should heed that tone, but he doesn’t. “No,” he says. “We are not.”

Yunho’s eyes shutter closed. When they open they’re blazing. “Fine,” he says. “Then I’ll do it without you.”

And Changmin’s heart nearly shatters it’s going so fast.

“There are other pointmen,” Yunho says. “There are other architects.” And he’s turning and heading back towards Siwon-hyung and Changmin is going to kill him, or lose him, or lose him because he’s killed him and he can’t breathe that’s so terrifying what the _fuck—_

“Wait, no, Hyung.” He grabs Yunho by the arm, pulls him back around and stares frantically into his steadfast, expressionless eyes, and hears gulls and children laughing and the thud of waves on a beach. “Don’t—”

“Don’t what, Changmin?” Yunho crosses his arms and stares, utterly unimpressed and utterly uncaring that they’re seven years out of the army, one month back in the field, and completely and fully in _public_ at the scene of a crime.

“I’ll do it,” Changmin says, even as the blood rushes to his ears and his knees want to knock together. “I’ll—if you’re going to do this—”

“Changminnie it’s _Siwon_ ,” Yunho says. “And. An arranged _marriage—_ ”

Changmin swallows, trying not to think about that aspect of it, of Siwon-hyung, still sitting in the booth, swallowing shots of soju and resigning himself to being sold for good business.

“Yeah,” he tells Yunho. “Yeah, I know.”

“I don’t care if you were lying earlier about Saito—”

“No, I’d heard that Cobb, maybe,” Changmin says, shrugging aimlessly because he doesn’t really keep tabs on their overseas compatriots, even though they all tell time by their feats and battles—Junsu-hyung joined Project Somnacin before that American ran away with a PASIV; Yunho-hyung joined after; the last time Changmin saw Donghae-hyung was after he and Hyukjae-hyung had pulled that job for Present Cosmetics—

“Cobb.” Yunho’s always been more up on the extraction grapevine, fine tuning his craft to the point that Changmin might concede that they’re legends in the underbelly of East Asia itself. Changmin may not know more of the man than the redacted military files and arrest warrants that mysteriously went away in—and Changmin’s killing himself over this, honestly, because no doubt Kim Heechul’s gone everywhere with the news that Shim Changmin himself had one fucking blind spot— _2010_ , but Yunho certainly does.

“It’s possible,” Changmin says, staring at the ground, at his and Yunho’s shoes. Thank God for Cobb, he thinks. For Saito. For Kim Heechul.

“We should call Hyung,” Yunho says, almost as if he’s read Changmin’s mind.

Changmin lifts his head and looks at him, noting the faint quirk to his lips, the fond look in his eyes. He looks at the mole to the side of his mouth, the lines set into the corners beside his eyes. He’s the most beautiful man in the world and he’s—

Not. Changmin’s. Anymore—

“Heechul-hyung?” Changmin manages, avoiding distractions and staying painfully on track.

Yunho nods. “We’re going to need a forger,” he says. “And an architect.”

Changmin scowls because he can do that, honestly, and they don’t need someone else. He runs point because of course he runs point, but really Yunho’s about as invested in and aware of their marks as he is. Building in dreams is the thing Changmin’s good at, is what he ended up falling down the rabbit hole for in the first place, and it rankles every time they bring in an architect for the more complicated things. Even before, when there were five of them, Changmin was always competing, was always rolling his eyes and pulling faces and trying his hardest to be better than the rest of them.

Even when they work with people he likes, like Donghae-hyung, Changmin kind of wants to die a little.

It’s a Yunho thing.

Changmin thinks maybe it wouldn’t have happened if they hadn’t met when he was so young and foolish. If the first thing Yunho ever said to him had been nice, supportive, and something inconsequential, instead of a verbal dressing down and an utterance that Changmin should just quit now, after he came out of a knifing and threw up all over his shoes.

Changmin found out later that Yunho and his squad had been in and out of fake warzones for three real world hours and learned better than to take the man’s bad moods personally, but in the moment, all Changmin had wanted to do was disappear, and then prove Jung Yunho _wrong_.

Which he did, over and over, until they were running away in the night to make use of the skills the military hadn’t meant to teach them.

“And a chemist,” Yunho continues, before Changmin can say anything too sour. “I don’t suppose you know any?”

Changmin grins, as he always does when faced with the prospect of working with old friends. “I might,” he says, reviewing where he knows Kyu is, and what sorts of trouble his best friend’s no doubt gotten himself into. Last he checked, Kyuhyun was flirting with the science behind somnacin to the point where Changmin was worried his friend was going to either end up dead or leading the international control council.

Yunho grins back at him. “Good,” he says. “I’ll call Boa.”

And now Changmin scowls, because he loves Boa-noona as much as the rest of them, but her being NIS really puts a damper on any fun they can have. “Hyung,” he whines.

“Changdol,” Yunho whines back. He looks over at Siwon-hyung, who remains silent and bowed over his glass. “You know Boa has access to the most information.”

Changmin scowls harder because that’s the icing on the cake, honestly. Not only is Kwon Boa pretty and lovely and smart and really good at extraction, but also she works for the National Intelligence Service and happens to know more about the ins and outs of dreamshare than Changmin ever could, simply because she’s partially tasked with dealing with those of them who fuck up to the point of more than wrist slaps.

“Don’t be jealous, Changmin-ah,” Yunho says, leading him back towards Siwon-hyung’s table. “Green isn’t a good look for you.”

Changmin sticks his tongue out at him again and sinks into the chair. “Yeah, whatever,” he says.

Yunho grins, following him down.

Siwon-hyung looks confusedly between the two of them. “So?” he says.

“So, we’re in,” Yunho says, settling back in his seat. He grins, then wiggles his brows.

Siwon-hyung’s expression brightens, but before he can go all the way to ecstatic, he glances towards Changmin. “We’re in?” he clarifies, worrying at a napkin with two fingers.

Changmin puts him out of his misery with a long sigh. “We’re in,” he agrees, and grins as well, because Siwon-hyung’s good mood is infectious, and who does it hurt, really, if the man signals for more soju, and he and Yunho end up staying in the Shilla Hotel for a full extra twenty four hours, give or take.

“Changmin-ah,” Yunho says, holding his glass happily and smiling far too kindly. “We’re going to make history.”

 _We already have_ , Changmin thinks, but doesn’t say, and clinks glasses with Yunho anyway. “Yeah, okay, Hyung. You’re going to regret this in the morning.”

Yunho just smiles, pink-cheeked and glowing, and Changmin ducks his head so he has an excuse to look away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is basically fully completed and will update every Sunday until it is all posted. See you all this weekend!
> 
> Share this fic: [Tumblr ](https://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/185391613090/inception) || [Twitter](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/1136217421277216768).


	2. The Team | September 2018

The first thing Changmin does is call Kyuhyun. It’s probably a cop-out, since out of all of them, Kyuhyun’s the only one Changmin knows won’t make a fuss about the impossibility of the job they’re trying to do and will instead try to bargain his way into getting Changmin to purchase him first class tickets to wherever they decide to set up their home base.

Kyuhyun’s out of the country doing who knows what in the name of the next crazy bit of dreamshare science. Changmin last spoke to him before the Anan Job, because his best friend may be perpetually on the cusp of destroying their world as they know it, but he’s also the best in the business, bar none.

And he’s Changmin’s best friend.

And Yunho wants to try _inception_ , so forgive Changmin for needing the comfort.

“Yo, Kyu,” he says in greeting. “Are you busy? You’re not going to blow up a greenhouse if I ask you something?”

“Okay that was one time,” Kyuhyun says, voice patchy the way overseas communication always is. “And hi, Chwang, I missed you too.”

Changmin rolls his eyes. “I spoke to you a week ago,” he says.

“Yeah, so the fact that you’re calling me first for some job means you’re shitting kittens, Shim Chwang-ah,” his best friend says, crass as ever. There’s a pause, like he might do something particularly hazardous that will end with some greenhouse in Italy getting blown to kingdom come, before his voice goes crisp and serious. “You are calling me about some job, right?” Kyuhyun says, more a statement than a question. “You’re not—” He pauses, seems to exhale painfully. “Getting _married—_ ”

Changmin pulls the phone away from his ear, aghast. “What? No— _what_?” he near shouts, flushing despite himself and drawing Yunho’s attention away from where he’s been bartering with Boa-noona so she’ll pass them the name of that halfway decent and more than crazy architect she’s worked with in the past.

He shoots Changmin a look.

Changmin waves him off. “I am—” He lowers his voice. “I am not getting _married_ , you asshole, what the _fuck_?”

Kyuhyun seems unbothered. “What?” he says. “Have you talked to Heechul-hyung? He said things.”

Changmin gnashes his teeth together and thinks he should have called the forger first. “Yes I have,” he says tightly. “Which you’d know, since it was six days ago.”

Six days was pushing it, but Changmin has a strict policy of not starting a new job until the old job is well put to bed. Anan came out of their upcoming merger scot free; their new partners, licking old wounds, and Yunho and Changmin faded into the background richer and with a more impressive reputation.

Kyuhyun hums. “Yeah, well, he’s in Ibiza now.”

Changmin rolls his eyes, because he knew that, and of course Heechul-hyung is.

“On a beach,” Kyuhyun continues. “And talking shit about how you and Yunho-hyung spent a night in the honeymoon suite.”

Changmin thinks he might need to run a free job for his dentist, the state his teeth will be in by the end of this.

“Together,” Kyuhyun says, as if that wasn’t clear. “The Anan merger. Was that you?”

Changmin hums, never one to admit to anything, and Kyuhyun moves on with the ease of basically ten years.

“Anyway, what are you two planning now?”

Changmin looks at Yunho again because he can’t help it, before steeling himself for this part of the conversation. Kyuhyun’s not going to say anything because it’s Kyuhyun, and yeah, he’ll bitch about having to abandon his weed factory (sorry, Somancin knock-off factory) to come synthesize compounds and work the job with them himself, but he’ll do it, and he’ll be someone Changmin knows and loves and trusts holding him back from the edge of it all, when it all goes to shit and Yunho won’t be able to stay in the same room with him.

“Inception,” he says, in time for Yunho to lift his head and fucking _smirk_ at him, giddy with the thought of it.

“Noona’s in,” Yunho chirps, then pauses, making a face. “Fuck. _Boa’s_ in. She made me call her ‘Noona.’ Why aren’t you two best friends, Changdol, it’s like you’re the same person.” He stands, stretching. “Are you calling Hyung or am I?”

“Call me ‘Hyung’ first,” Changmin replies, ignoring the sudden bout of coughing in his ear from Kyuhyun, turning away from Yunho with a raised middle finger. “Are you okay? I can call Sungmin-hyung if you’re not. He’s not nearly as pricey or crazy as you are. Won’t even throw a fit about going into the field.”

“How dare you, I own and work in like three fields,” Kyuhyun says, voice only a little raspy from the sudden bout of choking. “And also, would it kill you to warn a guy first? If I wanted front row seats to yours and Yunho-hyung’s sex games I’d have booked my own flight.”

“Front row seats?” Changmin says, pulling up a window on his laptop and trying to figure out which alias to use this time. “You’re not going to try to fly a gun are you, Kyu?”

“I’m not an idiot,” Kyuhyun says. “But also, you’d never let me go to jail. Or get deported. Book it for pervert. I haven’t flown as a pervert in ages.”

Changmin rolls his eyes, typing in the name Lee Byuntae with only mild annoyance. “You’re why we can’t have nice things, Kyuhyun-ah,” he says, finalizing the flight details and mailing them to Kyuhyun’s work email. “Also, the inception is for Siwon-hyung; he’s getting married; see you in twelve hours.”

He hangs up just in time to hear Kyuhyun sputter: “What? Siwon-hyung? Married? Twelve—fuck—Chwang, I can’t just leave—” and leans back in his chair gleefully, trying not to smirk too creepily at the thought of his friend’s despair. Immediately his phone buzzes with a series of kakaotalk messages, but Changmin just clicks it to silent and smiles.

Yunho drops into the seat across from him with a loud sigh. “You’re a menace, Changmin,” he says.

Changmin smiles beautifically back at him. “Are you going to call me Hyung now?” he says.

Yunho mimes decapitation, before lifting his own phone to his ear. “Heerobbong?” He winces. “Yes, hi. It has been too long. Changminnie and I have a job for you.” He pauses, eyes glinting between Changmin and the rest of the room in a way that if Changmin didn’t know better—didn’t know _him_ better—he might say was nervous, before continuing. “Inception,” he says. “For Siwonnie.” Yunho licks over the back of his teeth, tongue showing through and eyes doing that giddy, knowing thing again.

Changmin shifts anxiously in his seat despite himself, even as Yunho lifts a hand and gestures.

“Yeah, in Japan. Tokyo. Funnily enough it’s Proculus.” Yunho stops talking, sighing. “Hyung—flights—” He waves at Changmin again.

Changmin winces, but gets ready to book Heechul-hyung the worst seat possible out of spite.

“No, they won’t bother us,” Yunho says airily, like it’s nothing. “Changminnie called them and breathed for like five minutes; they’re probably hiding out in Madagascar, or something.”

Changmin opens his mouth, horrified. “What? I—I did not,” he says, well aware that this is the second time he’s been reduced to denials and sputtering. “ _Yunho-hyung_!”

“Isn’t that Lady Gaga’s real name?” says Yunho, rolling his eyes playfully like he hasn’t ruined Changmin’s life. “Pick something else. Don’t you have normal aliases?”

“ _Yunho-hyung_!” Changmin says again.

Yunho ignores him. “I mean that’s a girl’s name but you’re pretty enough, sure.” He rattles off one of Heechul-hyung’s more well loved aliases, and Changmin glowers at him, but enters the information anyway.

Yunho’s a dick. Changmin only called Jaejoong and breathed threateningly like one—two— _ten-ish_ times, and honestly? He was justified! Jaejoong was a backstabbing asshole! If Changmin wanted to phone him up and make threatening noises he was damn well going to do so! _Yunho_ should understand _most of all_.

He finalizes Heechul-hyung’s passport information, scowling, before emailing him his itinerary as well. “He realizes we’re not a concierge service,” he tells Yunho darkly, staring down at his own reflection in the laptop like it’ll help him look less like an angry cat. “I’m not a travel agent—”

“No, you’re far scarier. Thanks, Changmin-ah,” Yunho says, and sets down his phone, and _ruffles Changmin’s hair_ , and then gets up to consult his serial killer corkboard, mouth turning down at the corners.

“I hate you,” Changmin tells him, and even he can tell it’s a lie.

Yunho doesn’t even flatter him with a response.

 

* * *

 

The architect Boa-noona’s sent over is Go Ara, and she arrives to the warehouse in Chiba first. She’s wearing stilettos, dragging a suitcase, and wearing a long, tan trench coat that looks about as expensive as the PASIV device laid out on the table between Changmin and Yunho and the serial killer corkboard, which has been thankfully upgraded to a much less stereotypical white board, and now sports helpful photos of Maeda Kaito, Maeda Ayame, and Itsuki Saito. Also Siwon-hyung, which Changmin thinks is dumb, since Siwon-hyung is set to be arriving to the warehouse shortly.

When Go Ara sees them, she lowers her sunglasses, lifts an eyebrow at Changmin, and fucking _smiles_ at Yunho.

Changmin was all set to be glad that of the three of them, Ara required the least amount of assistance, and actually insisted on booking all her own flights. As it stands, he remembers rather suddenly that both she and Boa-noona go way back with _Yunho_ , and kind of wants to stab her in the eye. With her own stiletto. Because he’s handling things. Definitely.

He’s glad Kyuhyun hasn’t arrived yet and Siwon-hyung went to collect Heechul-hyung, that’s for sure.

“Yunho-oppa,” Ara says. “It’s good to see you.” She actually holds out a hand, which Yunho actually takes and fucking _kisses_ , and Changmin is doubly glad Kyuhyun hasn’t arrived and Siwon-hyung is off collecting Heechul-hyung, because the derisive, disbelieving scoff he makes is not at all controlled nor concealed.

To her credit, Ara just keep smiling, before greeting Changmin similarly, and doesn’t even wince when Changmin’s nails get caught in the back of her hand like a cat’s claws in cashmere.

“I’m glad you made it,” Yunho says. “Boa said she filled you in.”

Ara takes her hand back from Changmin’s clutches and surveys the warehouse, eyes lighting on the serial killer whiteboard with an air of disinterest. She sets that same hand on the handle of her suitcase.

Changmin is struck that she’s not stopped touching it once since arriving, notices how she’s somehow managed to remain between them and the exit. She’s good, if not military trained. But then, that’s women in dreamshare, Changmin knows. Project Somnacin did end up having a few women subjects, but only towards the end of its more official stint as a joint objective between the USA and South Korea. Changmin would almost say it was easy to be a man and end up a dreamer; women, by contrast, only really got into dreamshare if they were good at it. People like Kwon Boa, Go Ara, and Amber Liu could run circles around all of Changmin’s superiors.

And, well, it’s not like Changmin and Yunho have secrets about that sort of thing. Not like Yunho doesn’t know in full technicolor all about Changmin’s failings with the other sex from his time before, during, and after the military. He might not remember, but Changmin does, so he shouldn’t be bothered by the fact that he knows more than two people in this room have slept with each other.

Yunho’s always had good taste; of course Ara is good.

Changmin’s heart is a hard stone in his chest, but only because he hates not being the smartest person in the room.

Or something.

He sighs.

Yunho and Ara have shifted to the front of the whiteboard, Yunho running over his highly suspect and tentative plan, which involves several levels of dreaming and also will require Heechul-hyung to spend a large amount of time trailing Maeda Kaito’s ex-boyfriend.

Ara seems intrigued, head cocked to one side as she listens and surveys the lay of the land. She’s listening to Yunho clearly, but she also fingering the photos, one perfectly manicured finger ghosting along the headshot of Maeda Ayame.

“Changminnie will draw you floor-plans,” says Yunho, smiling when he catches Changmin staring. “Or help you draw floor-plans.”

Changmin fights the urge to strangle him; they’ve already had the argument about how Changmin is perfectly capable of running point and playing architect, and Changmin’s lost soundly, because Yunho has puppy dog eyes and also is the kind of asshole who says shit like, ‘but, Changminnie, I just don’t want you to feel _overworked_ or _stressed_ ; I’m just _looking out_ for you.’

“It’s all up in the air right now, but I was thinking maybe a hotel? Or a mansion. Something with a ballroom—”

Changmin tunes them back out, tired because Yunho’s been running his ideas by Changmin since they finished toasting in the Shilla Hotel Bar, and they’re not all half bad.

His phone beeps—Kyuhyun, clearing customs and getting on the train—and Changmin pockets it with a brief sigh. “Hyung,” he says, keeping Yunho abreast of their arrivals with just a look, before crossing to fiddle with the lawn chairs they’ve set up for their first shared dream. “Kyu’s here,” Changmin says, for mostly Ara’s benefit.

“Cho Kyuhyun?” Ara’s tone gives nothing away.

“He’s the best,” Yunho says. “And we’ll need at least three levels.”

Changmin tries not to too obviously pull a face, but Ara is openly surprised.

“Siwon’s paying quite a lot,” Yunho continues, trying for mild, but landing at mildly threatening instead.

Changmin is almost expecting someone to jump in, to ease the tension with a joke, or a brayed laugh, or anything—phantom memories and the ghosts of betrayals past smarting in the air between the two of them. It hasn’t happened since the end of July, but then, they haven’t been doing group jobs since the end of July. Maybe this is better. Maybe with more than the two of them it’s safer.

Ara and Yunho return to the whiteboard. “Why a mansion?”

“Well—”

Changmin pulls out his phone again, annoyed for reasons more than just nostalgia, and flicks open his latest message from Heechul-hyung announcing he is in the country and incredibly satisfied with his concierge service. They’re five stops from Chiba. Changmin curses the speed of bullet trains, tired.

He tips and untips Kyuhyun’s lawn chair, thinking about how Yunho likes to do most of their planning in the dreamspace. They’ll be using Changmin’s subconscious, first because he’s the most trustworthy and second because he’s the most put together. They always do—even if it’s just the two of them, and Changmin spends the first twenty minutes of the dream horrified that Yunho could probably dream up the reunification of Korea itself, and Changmin’s projections would ask him if he needed any help, please and thank you.

They do it because Yunho thinks that it’s safer to plan in a dream, and certainly it eliminates all possibility of anyone overhearing them. It does mean someone is going to end up watching all of them sleep for three or so minutes, because Yunho is a paranoid asshole, and you can’t be too careful. Or vulnerable.

Changmin wouldn’t be caught dead saying that his subconscious is somehow more trustworthy and or put together than the rest of them, but he appreciates the opportunity to see how their teammates work in a landscape of his choosing. Yunho may be a paranoid asshole, but so is Changmin.

His phone beeps again, this time announcing that Siwon-hyung and Heechul-hyung are arriving almost in step with Kyuhyun.

Changmin ignores Heechul-hyung in favor of his best friend.

`Aw, Chwang, you didn’t tell me that Siwon-hyung was going to be here.`

Changmin feels his eye twitch. `Actually I did. He’s the client, Kyuhyun-ah.`

`What.`

`He’s getting married, Kyuhyun-ah. I told you this.`

`No wait. That wasn’t a joke?`

`Kyu.`

`Is he marrying Heechul-hyung?????????`

Changmin lowers his phone, not even going to dignify that with a response.

`Chwang!!!!!!!`

The doors to the warehouse clang open with great commotion and Heechul-hyung comes striding loudly into the space, Siwon-hyung and Kyuhyun trailing awkwardly after him. He’s got two suitcases and no wigs and he’s wearing giant Hello Monster sunglasses. His hair is in a freaking ponytail.

Changmin honestly can’t remember if it was that long when they saw him last, and they saw him last not even two weeks ago.

“Yurobbong!” the man shouts, arms outspread.

Changmin breathes very hard through his nose.

`Chwang?`

`I hate you.`

Behind Siwon-hyung, Kyuhyun smirks.

Changmin ignores him, repocketing his phone.

“Heerobbong, hi.” Yunho has finished hugging and greeting Heechul-hyung, pulling out of his clutches to grin happily between all their additions. “Do you know Go Ara?”

Heechul-hyung lowers his sunglasses. “You’re Kwon Boa’s friend.” It goes unsaid that Boa-noona is NIS.

Ara nods. “And you’re Kim Taeyeon-unnie’s friend,” she says.

They stare at each other for a few charged moments, before Heechul-hyung smiles. “I like her,” he tells the room.

Siwon-hyung is visibly relieved, which makes sense; it’s his job.

“Is she our architect?” He shoots Changmin a look. “That’s a relief. No offense, Changdol.”

Changmin can’t wait to shoot the man awake after their practice sessions. “It’s Changmin,” he says. “And much taken.”

Heechul-hyung just laughs. “Now,” he says. “Siwon-ah.”

Siwon-hyung stands to attention.

“What’s this about you getting married?’

And thankfully, Yunho takes that as his cue to interject. “I’m glad that you asked, Heechul-hyung,” he says before Siwon-hyung can respond. “Kyuhyun-ah. Siwon-hyung. Ara-yah.”

Changmin rolls his eyes when he gets left out and tells himself he’s not at all pleased about the fact that he doesn’t require briefing.

“What do you know about inception?” Yunho says.

Ara’s eyes go curious.

Siwon-hyung wrings his hands.

Kyuhyun shoots Changmin a look.

Heechul-hyung takes off his sunglasses.

“I’m listening, Yunho-yah,” he says.

Yunho licks his lips. “Good.”

 

* * *

 

It takes about twenty minutes of price haggling and sarcastic commentary from Kyuhyun for each of them to be assigned a lawn chair, holding cotton swabs for cleaning the skin of their inner arms, and IV’s pulled free from the PASIV. Kyuhyun has agreed to stay awake for the three or so minutes they’ve put on the timer, and Changmin will go back under with him afterwards to bring him up to speed. He’d say he’s looking forward to some one on one privacy with his best friend, but that would probably be a lie. Kyuhyun’s always seen right through him, even if he can’t always figure out what it is Changmin’s hiding. It is _not_ going to be a fun hour, Changmin thinks.

“Three minutes,” says Kyuhyun, wiping across Changmin’s forearm. “One hour,” he translates, glancing over towards Yunho. He rolls his eyes playfully. “You couldn’t be less of a paranoid asshole, Hyung?”

Yunho’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “It’s like you’re getting smarter, Kyuhyun-ah,” he says.

Kyuhyun grins. “That’s not even enough time to do more than one clue in a crossword, hyung,” he says. “You should at least let me come.”

Heechul-hyung snickers, Siwon-hyung grins, and Ara lifts her eyes skyward. “Boys.”

Changmin takes the needle from Kyuhyun, snorting himself.

“Three minutes,” Yunho says this time, and Changmin shuts his eyes and breathes.

He comes awake on a dream staircase, walls, glass, tiles, projections all springing into being around him without more than a thought. He’ll have to go find the others, but that’s how things always used to be. Changmin always drops himself by himself, always takes a moment to pull out his grandmother’s lighter and flick it on with one thumb, watching the dance of the flame as it blooms to life. (You’re dreaming, this isn’t real, time to wake up, Yu—)

He never thinks much of it—when it’s him and Yunho, like it has been since July, it’s not s problem to find each other. But then he remembers why doing it like this is a bad idea, and flat out runs for the sounds of voices.

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit.

Yunho’s standing with both hands in his pockets next to Heechul-hyung, Siwon-hyung and Ara standing a few paces away from them looking around at the architecture of the place. His ears are blushing and his shoulders are rising and Heechul-hyung’s eyes are _dancing_ , so focused on whatever it is he’s seen that Changmin showing up in a mild panic doesn’t even blip on his radar.

“Heechul-hyung,” Yunho is saying. “Shut up.”

Heechul-hyung just keeps cackling, bemusement practically leeching off of him into the air.

Changmin’s eyes automatically drop down to Yunho’s left hand, disappearing into his pocket almost guiltily, and thankfully out of sight. He drops his own behind his back, fingers gripping his own wrist nervously, and pulls at the fabric of the dream. Nobody’s going to knife him for fooling around his own appearance; that’s sort of the point of dreaming, honestly. Changmin circles all of his fingers with an assortment of rings, careful not to focus too hard on what they look like—not gemstone ridden, of course—but giving just enough direction to the dream so that when he lets go, he’s got gold and silver bands wrapping around all of his fingers.

“Shut _up_ , Heechul-hyung,” Yunho says one more time, as Changmin pulls level with them. He’s blushing now. “We can’t all be masters of forgery.” He swears, noticing Changmin, and blushes even harder. “Changdol. Hi.”

Changmin steps into his usual spot just to the left of him and behind, staring around at the rest of them, daring them to comment. “Hi,” he says.

Heechul-hyung looks like he wants to say more, but refrains.

“Where are we?” Ara says. She eyes the floor to ceiling windows and vaulted, industrial ceilings with a single mindedness only an architect could understand.

“Dongdaemun Design Plaza,” Changmin says, rolling his shoulders back a little and causally bending the dream until Yunho has rings on all of his fingers as well. It’s nerve wracking but necessary; no matter of late nights and frantic call ins on favors with forgers has helped Changmin solve the problem of the rings, but so far neither his nor Yunho’s projections seem mad about Changmin’s alterations. Sometimes Yunho’s will smile at him fondly, but Changmin likes to pretend he can’t see them.

“Huh,” Ara says. “It’s good.”

Changmin fights the urge to say something he’d regret. “Thank you.”

Siwon-hyung drapes an arm around Changmin’s shoulders. “Changmin was the best at dreaming in our division,” he says.

Changmin manages a smile, even as he overbalances and has to take a few steps to stay upright.

Yunho’s hands come out of his pockets as he reaches out to steady him, and Changmin breathes a reflexive sigh of relief when he sees the rings on his hand. Nobody else comments on it, even though Heechul-hyung definitely notices, and grins, before tipping his head rather knowingly in Changmin’s direction.

Changmin has to fight the urge to shift guiltily. “Thanks, Hyung,” he tells Yunho, once he’s able to stand on his own.

Yunho just smiles at him briefly, before addressing the entire group.“So, Maeda Kaito,” he says. “Heir to Proculus Global.”

Siwon-hyung sighs. “My fiancé,” he adds.

There’s very little reaction to that statement—obviously Boa-noona briefed Ara and obviously Siwon-hyung filled in Heechul-hyung.

Yunho lets them all think that over before nodding. “Right, so,” he says. “We’re going to convince him to call off his wedding.”

“Convince him,” Changmin says at the same time as Ara, under his breath.

Ara smiles at him.

Changmin smiles back, but also wants the ground to swallow him whole and for Heechul-hyung to stop grinning at him like that, because it’s creepy and awful and not at all justified; Changmin and Ara are _nothing_ alike; Yunho does not have a fucking _type_.

“Convince him,” Yunho repeats, looking between the lot of them with great patience. “By planting an idea.”

“Thus inception,” Ara determines, nodding. “That makes sense.”

Heechul-hyung stops looking like his birthday has come incredibly early. “Aw, but love,” he says. “You don’t want to marry Kaito, Siwon-ah?”

For some reason Changmin thinks the question is charged. He blames Kyuhyun.

“He’s… not your type?” And that’s _definitely_ charged, even though Heechul-hyung is the picture of innocence and honest curiosity.

Siwon-hyung rubs nervously at the back of his neck. “I mean, at least he’s not a woman, but no. I’m not in love with him,” he says, somehow managing to meet all their gazes, ending on Heechul-hyung, who stares back.

The look in the older man’s eyes is unreadable, and Changmin curses Kyuhyun furiously in his head for the direction his thoughts have taken. Also, he curses his parents, since he was too young to go on the more important mission with Siwon-hyung and Heechul-hyung and Donghee-hyung, and thus missed the catalyst for Siwon-hyung’s sexuality crisis.

“Kaito-san isn’t in love with Siwon, either,” Yunho interjects, not even sparing Heechul-hyung and Siwon-hyung a second glance. “The only reason he’s going through with the engagement is because of his mother.”

Ara nods again. “Maeda Ayame,” she says. “Head of Proculus Global.”

Heechul-hyung licks his lips. “You don’t think that’s an unnecessary risk?” he says, looking at Yunho, but not Changmin.

“Ayame-san isn’t close to her brother,” Yunho says, and Changmin nods, backing his play. “Bailing him out of hotel bars notwithstanding.”

“Besides,” Changmin speaks up finally. “Itsuki-san’s status within the company is strained, to say the least.”

Ara tilts her head towards him.

“He has a mistress,” Changmin explains. “Or did.” He shrugs. “It’s my understanding that his sister paid the woman quite handsomely for her help in… ousting her brother.”

Ara’s mouth rounds. “Ah.”

Siwon-hyung shudders. “Cold-hearted, that woman,” he says.

Ara looks like she wants to comment, but thinks better of it.

Changmin can’t even begrudge her that—Itsuki Saito might have been halfway decent for Proculus, but Changmin has no patience for the sort of people who enable infidelity.

“You can see why I’m in no rush to marry into the family,” Siwon-hyung finishes. “Besides, you know. Not being in love with Kaito-san.”

Ara smiles at that, placing a hand on Siwon-hyung’s arm.

He smiles back at her.

“So what are we thinking?” asks Heechul-hyung finally, voice serious. “We convince him to call the wedding off as some sort of fuck you to her?”

Yunho pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth.

“No,” Ara says, frowning. “That’s too negative.”

Yunho looks pleased. “She’s right,” he says.

Changmin fights the urge to do something colossally stupid, like kiss that look off his face.

“Positive emotions _are_ stronger,” Siwon-hyung says, licking nervously at the line between his lips. “Also, I’d rather not ruin Kaito’s relationship with his mother.”

Heechul-hyung closes his eyes. “Siwon-ah,” he exhales. “You’ve hired us to break into the man’s mind and make him call off his wedding. Please leave your morality at the door.”

Siwon-hyung frowns. “Kaito-san doesn’t want to marry me either,” he says, raising Yunho’s earlier point petulantly. “And he loves his mother, clearly, since he’s willing to do this for her.”

Heechul-hyung rolls his eyes so hard Changmin worries they’ll fall out, but Ara jumps on that line of thought.

“He doesn’t?”

“No, he doesn’t,” Yunho is the one who answers. “It’s an arranged marriage.”

Changmin kind of wants to thump him on the back of his infuriatingly romantic head, but refrains. “We need him to go to his mother because he’s realized she wants him to call of the engagement,” he offers finally, given Yunho’s only beating around the bush.

“That she wants him to follow his heart,” Yunho agrees, ever the unfazed sap. “Hence, the ex-boyfriend.”

Changmin really does roll his eyes this time, but nods. “Hence the ex-boyfriend,” he says.

Ara’s eyes narrow. “He has an ex-boyfriend?”

Changmin answers. “Ishiro Isamu,” he says. “Thirty-two years old. He works for a non-profit doing legal work for clean energy, if you can believe it.”

Yunho makes a noise, but Changmin knows that’s because Yunho thinks Kaito and Isamu’s love story is the most romantic thing after Siwon-hyung’s desire to break his engagement; Romeo and Juliet meets the Prince and the Pauper meets the energy crisis. Or something else more Korean. Changmin should find a Korean story to use as a comparison, or at least a homosexual one.

He continues. “He’s only very recently the ex-boyfriend, actually.”

Ara frowns.

“Until two months ago, they were living together.”

Ara mulls that over. “Are we thinking bribery?”

Yunho’s eyes go fevered. “Oshiro Isamu did happen to have lunch with Maeda Ayame two months ago,” he says. “Give or take a few days.”

Heechul-hyung’s mouth rounds in realization. “Ah,” he says, drawing the sound out.

“Yes,” Yunho says.

“So we’re playing matchmaker, basically,” Heechul-hyung offers.

Changmin winces, but Yunho is the one who responds.

“That’s where things get tricky,” he says, and Ara mutters, “Oh _that_ ,” under her breath.

Changmin can’t help but grin at her behind Yunho’s back.

She smiles back. “Not the inception, Oppa, of course.”

Yunho pays them no mind.

“Oh?” says Heechul-hyung, all business.

“We can’t just get Kaito-san to break off his engagement,” Yunho explains. “we need Ayame-san to _let_ him.”

There’s a beat.

Heechul-hyung stares hard at Yunho, assessing.

Changmin almost sweats, and for two seconds, the dream goes hazy around Yunho’s left hand. He gets it together before anyone can notice, and because it’s his dream, none of the projections spare them a glance

“So you want us to incept two people,” Heechul-hyung says, tone unreadable. “Yunho-yah.”

“Not two, no,” Yunho says quickly. “With Ayame-san, it’s more like… suggestion. I think we can get away with more basic stuff.”

That catches Siwon-hyung’s attention, and Changmin remembers suddenly that the man was a natural extraction. “You mean like recurring dreams?”

Yunho nods. “Yes,” he says. “Maybe like five or something. I’m not sure. I’d have to think more about it. We’ll call someone to help, of course—I need you to help Hyung watch Isamu-san—”

Changmin remembers rather abruptly that Yunho more than any of them ended up as part of Project Somnacin because of the _possibilities._

“Think about it,” Yunho is saying. “She loves Kaito-san, clearly; she’s his mother—”

“More like he’s her only son,” Changmin can’t help but mutter, but Yunho pays him no mind.

“So all we have to do is give her a few ideal dreams where he and Isamu-san are together and happy, and then when Kaito-san goes to talk to her, she’ll be more likely to say yes.”

It’s not a bad plan. Sure, it’s utopic and relies far too heavily on Yunho’s belief in the good of people and family, but from what Changmin knows of Maeda Ayame and her relationship with her son, it just might work.

“That’s a whole lot of assumptions you’re making, Oppa,” Ara says, but even she looks excited.

Changmin doesn’t blame her. Doing inception is a feat in and of itself but doing it like this—with several marks and a lot of luck and also skill—is the sort of thing people get into their line of work for. To stretch the realm of what’s possible. To play God.

Yunho shrugs, helpless to his own enthusiasm and arrogance.

Ara shakes her head, but she’s smiling.

“Well, I’m in,” says Heechul-hyung finally, startling them all. “What?” He blinks around their circle. “I’m not allowed to be a romantic?”

Yunho stares at him with his lips parted.

Heechul-hyung smirks. “I can’t look after my favorite dongsaeng?” he adds, gesturing at Siwon-hyung. “I mean clearly Kaito-san’s head over heels with Isamu. It would be cruel not to do something.”

Siwon-hyung stares at the other man for a long time. “True,” he says slowly.

“I’m all about love, Siwon-ah,” says Heechul-hyung. “Also, I’m the best forger in the business.”

Changmin’s the one conceding that point now with a nod.

“Don’t look this gift horse in the mouth,” finishes Heechul-hyung, and ruffles Siwon-hyung’s hair. Then he sobers. “But let’s talk price, again, Yurobbong.”

Yunho groans. “Hyung—”

“A man has to eat,” says Heechul-hyung.

“I’m in too,” Ara pipes up, with a smile when they all turn to look at her. “What?” She shrugs. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good love story.”

“And I’m a closeted romantic who Kyuhyun owes one,” Changmin deadpans. “Now how many of you want to lie to him about what our cuts are going to be?”

Which is of course when the time they’d logged on the PASIV runs out, and Changmin comes awake to his best friends annoyingly cheerful eyes.

“Well?” he says, looking between all of them. He gives the PASIV a tap, more than a little smug. “Good, right?”

Changmin had forgotten they were testing Kyuhyun’s own make of sedative, too busy trying not to be quite so obvious about his need for his totem. His fingers twitch, searching for the click and fail of his grandmother’s lighter, even those his hands are bare now, so it’s reality. He needs to watch the thing fail to spark. Needs to be reminded that fire is orange-to-blue, in reality.

Siwon-hyung has pulled out a string of rosary beads, palming over them with a methodicalness Changmin hadn’t really realized he’d missed until just this moment. Heechul-hyung’s rubbing over something in his pocket; Ara is too much of a stranger to them all to even wager a guess at her tie to reality; Yunho’s got his eyes stuck on his grandfather’s pocket watch like it holds the keys to curing cancer. He puts it away before anyone else can see and his fingers are bare also, but his hands still hover around the gun Changmin knows he used to carry in his waistband anyway.

The expression on his face is frighteningly discerning.

Alarm bells start going off in Changmin’s head.

“Really good,” he tells Kyuhyun, since that’s safe. He tears his eyes off of Yunho and faces his best friend. “Fuck. What did you put in that?” He’s almost dizzy, and he knows it’s reality—ring, fire, ring, watch—but there’s still a jarringness to the transition that leaves Changmin’s mouth fuzzy.  

Kyuhyun slides the cannula free of Changmin’s wrist and swabs at the spot with antiseptic and a cotton swab before answering. He gestures for Changmin to hold pressure on the injection site. “You don’t want to know,” he says. A glance around the room shows everyone else is taking care of their own IV lines well enough, but Kyuhyun moves to help Ara regardless. “Trust me.”

“Always,” Changmin mutters, before glancing back at Yunho. “Hyung.” He stands, guilty, and grabs a fresh swab and the antiseptic.

Yunho watches Changmin pull the needle free, eyes in shadow, and doesn’t hiss at the sting of alcohol over his skin. “It’s okay, Changmin,” he says quietly.

Changmin’s put his left hand on Yunho’s wrist automatically, and for a second he swears Yunho’s looking down at his empty ring finger on purpose.

Then the man tips his head back and smiles, almost guileless in his honest show of thanks. “Thank you, though, Changminnie,” he says, still soft and gentle. He puts pressure against his own forearm.

Changmin retreats just as quietly, trying not to look at Yunho’s naked ringer finger, trying not to see ghosts.

“They do that,” he hears Kyuhyun say loudly. “They’re not sleeping together, though,” his friend adds. “Shocking, I know.”

“Hey, you don’t know that for sure,” says Heechul-hyung. “Right, Yurobbong?”

Changmin’s head comes up, horrified.

Yunho just stands and throws away the cotton swab, the ball of synthesized fiber product landing neatly in the trashcan they’ve brought into the circle specifically for this.

He looks entirely unconcerned by the line their conversation has taken, and Changmin thinks that’s unfair. He also thinks Heechul-hyung is a dick, though, and that’s far more important.

“You’re a nosy dick, Heerobbong,” Yunho says, putting voice to Changmin’s words. Then he turns and heads towards the warehouse bathroom.

Heechul-hyung grins after him. “That’s not a ‘no,’ Yunho-yah,” he calls after him, and gets a middle finger for his trouble.

Changmin’s face is on fire. “It is too,” he says. “We’re _not_ ,” he says, addressing Ara now. “Fuck. Yunho-hyung!” He hurries after the man, ignoring the teasing Kyuhyun shouts after him.

Yunho lets Changmin catch him in the hallway leading up to the bathroom, a tiny smile gracing his lips. “Here to prove Kyu wrong?” he says softly when Changmin reaches him, eyes brimming with mirth.

Changmin wants to shake him. “What? No. Hyung,” he sputters, so embarrassed he can almost pretend he’s not also terrified. “You shouldn’t—” He can’t find the words. “Heechul-hyung’s a terrible gossip,” he ends up with. “Everyone will know—will think—” He breaks off again, flustered.

Yunho’s still smiling at him, all sweet and unruffled. “Should I be insulted by how eager you are to disabuse people of our metaphorical sleeping together, Changdol-ah?” he says.

Changmin’s face, if possible, gets even hotter. “What?” he says again, like a broken record. “No! Yunho-hyung!”

Yunho just grins, amused. “A little gossip never hurt anyone, Changminnie,” he says.

“Um, actually, it could,” Changmin says, voice uncontrollably high. “Kyu asked me if I was getting _married_.”

Yunho’s eyes go oddly flinty.

“Because Heechul-hyung told him we were in the honeymoon suite,” Changmin continues, heedless of the warning bells going off in his head. “Which is just ridiculous. How dare he think I’d settle for Shilla hotel.” He hadn’t. He’d insisted on nothing less than Bali, shifting between tropical locations like slides under a microscope while Yunho laughed and smiled and made perfect promises.

“Well to be fair, we were,” says Yunho, not all the way amused anymore, but just a shade too teasing to calm Changmin’s nerves. “And under the names Jung and Jung.”

Changmin could strangle him. “If you think I’d let us book our honeymoon under the names Jung and Jung,” he snaps. “I mean—you—I—shut up.”

Yunho keeps grinning, but he does look a little more subdued now. “There’s no harm in boosting morale, Changdol-ah,” he points out gently, glancing back towards their teammates.  

Changmin blinks. “Boosting morale.”

Like clockwork, he can hear Kyuhyun laughing hysterically, Siwon-hyung joining in, and Ara saying loudly, tone leaving zero room for debate, “Well _I’m_ not sleeping with either of you, thanks.” Even she sounds in good humor. It proves Yunho’s point.

Yunho raises his eyebrows as if to say so.

Changmin’s cheeks warm. “Whatever,” he says finally, because he can’t even begin to say anything else. “I’ll just.” He gestures, then shifts awkwardly. “Try not to disabuse anyone of our metaphorical.” His voice breaks. “Sleeping together, then.”

It’s awful.

Changmin is awful.

Yunho is staring at him like he’s a five-hundred-piece puzzle.

Changmin needs to leave. He turns.

“Is it,” Yunho blurts suddenly, like he doesn’t mean it. He stops, blushing, but then continues. “Is it that bad, people thinking you’re sleeping with me?” His voice goes up at the end, his tone tentative, his accent particularly apparent.

Changmin’s stomach twists itself in knots. The obvious answer is yes. The safe answer is yes. The right thing to say is yes. If Changmin says yes Yunho will never bring it up again. He’ll take Heechul-hyung and Siwon-hyung and maybe even Kyuhyun aside, and the jokes will go away and Changmin will never have to listen to thinly veiled innuendo about the two of them again.

Yunho might stop dreaming about wedding rings.

Changmin… won’t.

Yes is safe.

Yes is a lie.

“No,” Changmin whispers, and practically runs to rejoin the others.

He doesn’t look over his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Share this fic: Tumblr | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/1136217421277216768).
> 
> Hope to see you next Sunday with an update, lol.


	3. The Team | September 2018

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s come to my attention that not everyone has seen _Inception_. I have since written a [primer](https://zimriya.tumblr.com/inceptionau).

“Are you going to call Hyukjae-hyung or should I?” asks Changmin a few days later.

They’re practically living out of the warehouse at this point, mostly so that Kyuhyun can have all sorts of fun with chemical experiments involving each and every one of them, and Changmin is done with his initial dossiers for Ayame, Kaito, and Isamu, so he’s taken to helping Ara with the floorplans for level three, which is the only one Yunho’s decided on. Besides a desire for a ballroom or mansion on the first two levels, Yunho’s offered no insight to his plans, which is fine.

If things were going completely wrong, Changmin would have heard all about it during one of their nightly pre-falling asleep chats. Really, they should make use of their separate apartment rooms, but really, Changmin worries himself sleepless if they’re that far apart, and Yunho indulges him. Changmin is, of course, justifiably worried, but Yunho doesn’t know that—doesn’t _remember_ that—and so he chalks it up to doting on his dongsaeng, and Changmin doesn’t care to disabuse him of that notion.

The fact that they haven’t moved beyond Kyuhyun’s chemical experiments isn’t really surprising, given the tight-lipped approach Yunho’s taken to the job itself, but Changmin still thinks they should at least confirm Hyukaje-hyung and and Donghae-hyung’s availability. He has no doubt the two of them would welcome the chance to do more than just break into some wealthy man’s mind, but time is of the essence with a long con job like this one.

“Yunho-hyung,” he says, when he gets no response.

Yunho looks up from where he’s been frowning guiltily down at Changmin’s notes on Isamu. “Oh, Changdol,” he says.

Changmin lifts one brow at him.

“Oh, Changdol,” Yunho repeats, faking shock this time and clutching the paper to his chest. “Are you actually allowing me the pleasure of making actual _decisions_ about the job?”

Changmin throws  his pen at him. “Hyung,” he says, watching Yunho dodge the thing fondly. “It’s not like I know your plans.”

That sobers Yunho immediately, but he still looks sorrowfully after Changmin’s pen, lips pursed. “Oh, right,” he says, only this time sounds disappointed. “Well, um—”

“Yurobbong doesn’t have a plan,” says Heechul-hyung helpfully from where he’s been sitting in the corner getting hooked up to something Changmin thinks might be a lie detector.

He wouldn’t put it past Kyuhyun, and no way that number of wires is necessary for synthesizing a compound to allow three levels of dreaming. Especially if the rumors are true, and other chemists have done it. (But then, if Kyuhyun wants to pretend he doesn’t know Yusuf, Changmin’s fine with that.)

 “Well.” Heechul-hyung gives the end of his sentence some thought. “Besides his butterfly effect idea.”

Changmin blinks. He’s heard absolutely nothing from Yunho, and certainly not about butterflies, or whatever. He looks over at the man, feeling honestly left out and betrayed, and then pauses when he notes his expression.

Yunho’s cheeks are bright red, his fingers close to ripping through Oshiro Isamu’s college transcript, and he sets the thing down on the desk immediately. “Heechul-hyung,” he protests, then looks around, eyes lighting almost guiltily on Changmin, which makes no sense; he didn’t rip the transcript. “Fuck. Changdol. Don’t look at me like that.” His voice turns into an uncomfortable, almost-hiss. “I didn’t tell you that one _seriously_!”

Heechul-hyung pauses. “Huh,” he says. “You didn’t?” He licks over his lips. “Well then. Oops?”

Kyuhyun’s machine beeps.

Changmin wonders if that means the man’s really sorry, or not.

Heechul-hyung is smiling at Yunho, clearly apologetic.

“Oops,” Yunho repeats, clearly unimpressed. He’s looking significantly less flushed now, but still doesn’t seem like he wants to meet Changmin’s eyes.

Changmin tilts his head to one side. “The butterfly effect,” he says. “That’s… the idea that something as insignificant as a butterfly’s wings flapping could cause a tornado, yes?”

Yunho somehow blushes harder, but Ara looks up from her ballroom blueprints and nods. “Yes.”

Changmin wishes he still had his pen, because he’d really like to suck on it.

Like a mind reader, Yunho stands to retrieve Changmin’s pen. “I was saying it jokingly to Hyung,” he explains, as he bends to pick it up. “Like. If Kaito married Siwon versus if he married Isamu.” He pauses, holding the pen between three fingers, and giving the entire room quite the show of his back, ass, and the back of his thighs.

He’s in his favorite pair of casual jeans, and they’re soft and skintight and leave nothing to imagination.

His shirt’s ridden up.

Changmin bites back a growl, fully aware he has no right to be mindless with rage, especially when Ara darts her tongue out from behind her lips, and ducks down to rub dust off her blueprints; especially when Heechul-hyung makes like he’s going to whistle, two fingers lifting to stick in his mouth.

“So, were you thinking positive things if he marries Isamu, and negative if he marries Siwon?” Changmin says, before their eldest can do so, eyeing Yunho grudgingly.

Yunho stands, turns, and throws Changmin his pen. “Yeah,” he says, unconvincingly. “Like. Not seriously.”

Changmin catches the pen but doesn’t bring it to his lips, too hyperaware of the fact that Yunho was touching it, and not thinking enough about how it was just on the warehouse floor. “What’s level three, then?” he says.

Yunho sighs and shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know,” he says.

“A ballroom,” Ara says dreamily, then smiles when Changmin and Yunho look at her. “What?” she says. “Every girl had a princess fantasy. You didn’t give me any constraints.”

“It has to be a maze,” Changmin says.

“We’ll narrow it later,” Yunho says.

“Yeah, I know how to do my job,” Ara says.

Yunho grins at her.

Ara grins back.

Changmin wonders if he could get away with hacking her phone, sending her off on some wild goose chase with a faked family emergency. He thinks better of it, then grinds his teeth.

“Level three is where Kaito has to tell us he wants to marry Isamu,” Yunho says. He shrugs again, still smiling, but wryfully this time, and looking at Changmin. “Do you think we _can_ call Hyukjae with that much information?”

“Yes,” Changmin says, already unlocking his phone so he can find Hyukjae-hyung’s latest contact information. “We can just tell him we need support—some routine snooping, a few recurring dreams, the basics.” Hyukjae-hyung’s number is easily located, Donghae-hyung’s not so much.

Changmin can see Yunho nodding. “Siwon-hyung,” he calls, distracting their client and friend from where he’d been sitting by himself looking over the notes on Maeda Ayame. “You’ll probably want to talk price.”

Siwon-hyung sighs, but stands to come sit with Changmin anyway. “It’s Hyukjae?” he says. “And Donghae?”

“And Amber, probably,” Changmin adds, hitting call.

“Henry,” Yunho says. “They’re a pair.”

Siwon-hyung sighs.

“Shim Chang-ah?” Hyukjae-hyung answers. “What brings you to my side of the Korean Strait?”

Changmin is the one sighing now, since clearly the news has spread, and there’s only way that could have happened. “I thought you said they were dead to you, Hyung,” he says.

Hyukjae-hyung’s tone stays pleasant. “I’m sorry, you’re breaking up,” he says. “I thought I heard you tell me I should cut ties with my oldest and best friend, but that can’t be it.”

Changmin tries his best not to hang up. “May I speak to Donghae-hyung?” he tries instead. It’s not that he dislikes Hyukjae-hyung. The man was one of the top students in the more academic side of Project Somnacin, a pioneer in the extraction field to match the likes of Yunho and Ahn Chilhyun, but unlike Heechul-hyung, he doesn’t mince words. It doesn’t help that Changmin doesn’t know Hyukjae-hyung, not like he does Donghae-hyung, who worked so closely with Yunho and him during their Project Somnacin days that it often felt like they were one team, and not like Heechul-hyung, who was the senior forger of their group, and whose psychology background made him an unparalleled asset.

“No,” Hyukjae-hyung replies, still sounding pleasant. “But only because Donghae is in time out.”

There’s a sound from the background—sputtering, Donghae-hyung protesting—and Changmin can’t help but smile.

“He has a terrible habit of agreeing to all sorts of jobs,” Hyukjae-hyung continues. “Like just the other day he told Ryeogi we’d do something for him in New York without even bothering to negotiate price.”

Changmin snorts.

Across the room, Kyuhyun looks up from the wires hooked to Heechul-hyung and grins. “Is he talking about the New York Job?” he says, unsurprising since he works the most with Ryeowook-hyung and Jongwoon-hyung, and the two of them are near-exclusive to rival Yunho and Changmin. Not for any reason beyond ease of working relationship and learned familiarity, though.

 _Yes_ , Changmin mouths back.

Kyuhyun laughs some more. “Five stars,” he says.

Hyukjae-hyung has kept speaking, continuing to ramble on about Donghae-hyung’s horrible spending habits and inability to be a proper thieving business man.

“Well, Siwon-hyung is right here to talk price with you,” Changmin says, when there’s a lull. “So that won’t happen this time.”

Hyukjae-hyung pauses for a mild moment. “Siwon?” he says finally. “Siwon is the client?”

“Hi, Hyung,” Siwon-hyung says, leaning in to be heard on the call.

Changmin clicks the thing to speaker, setting his phone down on the table.

“Siwon-ah,” Hyukjae-hyung says. “What have you gotten into yourself now that requires TVXQ?”

Changmin scowls, not really fond of the name they’d called themselves in early 2011, back when Jaejoong first stole the PASIV (a la Arthur) and they realized they had very little marketable skills besides mind-thievery.

“I’m getting married, Hyukjae-hyung,” Siwon-hyung says, like ripping off a band aid. “Next year.”

Hyukjae-hyung sputters, and so does Donghae-hyung in the background.

Then a voice comes on the line, young and stumbling. “Is that Siwon-hyung?” Henry is asking. “Did he say married? He’s getting married?”

“Congratulations!” Amber says next. “Who’s the lucky guy, Siwon-oppa? I thought you were still busy talking the Proculus merger? When did you have time to find a man?”

Changmin blinks, shooting Siwon-hyung a look. Was there some sort of international dreamshare newsletter he was missing? Did Siwon-hyung have a two page spread about his sexuality and his business dealings somewhere for everyone and their mother to see?

Siwon-hyung flushes. “Um, no, Amber, actually—”

“Siwon-hyung hired us to help call off his wedding,” says Changmin, taking pity on the man before things can escalate.

“Oh,” says Amber, like she’s committing this to memory.

Changmin shouldn’t forget she runs point, honestly. It’s the sort of thing that could have a person thinking all kinds of bullshit, like about dreamshare having a newsletter.

“We need your help, though,” Changmin continues. “A long con. Just some recurring dreams.”

Hyukjae-hyung’s tone changes. “Who’s the mark?”

“Maeda Ayame.”

“Proculus Global?” The sound of typing keys is audible on the call. “Yikes.”

“Her son’s my fiancé,” Siwon-hyung says

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Hyukjae-hyung keeps typing. “What sort of recurring dreams?”

Changmin looks to Yunho. The man steps closer and picks up the phone. “We want Ayame to be receptive when her son comes to her asking to call off his engagement,” he says, voice raised to be heard.

Hyukjae-hyung continues typing on the keyboard but remains all business. “Yunho-hyung. Hi.” He probably bows, even though none of them can see him; respectful to a fault. “So, stuff about how her son would be happier with someone else, I’m assuming,” he says.

“Oshiro Isamu,” Amber says suddenly. “Maeda Kaito’s ex-boyfriend?” She laughs. “Oh, he works in clean energy?”

“They’re like _Romeo and Juliet_ ,” Yunho says happily.

Heechul-hyung finally frees himself from Kyuhyun’s clutches. “Give me that,” he says, taking the phone from Yunho.

Across the room, Ara submits to Kyuhyun’s testing, looking mostly bemused, but quietly refraining from comment.

Heechul-hyung is shaking his head at Yunho. “Don’t pout,” he tells the man. “You look daft. Eunhyukie, hi.”

Hyukjae-hyung starts to protest the use of his dreamshare name, but Heechul-hyung doesn’t care.

“It’s so nice to hear from you but I’ve actually been missing my most beloved dongsaeng—”

Yunho gasps, mock horrified. “Hyung!”

“Hush, Yurobbong, Dorobbong is the baby.”

Donghae-hyung comes on the line. “Heerobbong-hyung, hi,” he says happily. “Yunho-hyung.”

Yunho leans back in for the phone, then whines when Heechul-hyung shoves him off and away. “Go bother Changmin,” he says. “He’d love it if you got in his lap.”

Changmin flushes, but Yunho just sticks his tongue out at Heechul-hyung, before coming over to hand Changmin Isamu’s folder.

Changmin takes it, heart pounding all of a sudden.

“This is good information,” Yunho says, not looking at Siwon-hyung. “You really are the best, Changminnie.”

Changmin blushes even harder, but ducks his head and hands over Kaito’s dossier anyway. “Thanks,” he says.

“Don’t worry Amber-yah,” Heechul-hyung is loudly saying. “You could literally be spying on everyone on the planet, and Yunho would still think the sun shone out of Changmin’s ass.”

Yunho’s lips quirk, but the hand he puts on Changmin’s is gentle. It’s the one that’s gone back to holding the pen, wrapped around it like a nervous tick. He drags his thumb against Changmin’s knuckles. “Can I borrow this?”

Changmin nods, unable to look away from the man’s beautiful eyes, and then doesn’t watch Yunho hurl it at Heechul-hyung.

Heechul-hyung ducks, swearing, before coming to hand the phone to Siwon-hyung with loud mirth. “Quick, take this before they blind me,” he says. “Eunhyukie’s good for it,” he tells Yunho. “Just got to make sure you pay him well, Siwon-ah.”

“For the last time, Hyung, it’s Hyukjae!” Changmin hears Hyukjae-hyung say, then, “Oh, hi Siwon. Already turning to dreamshare? You know they have  a legal thing for that. It’s called divorce.”

Siwon-hyung rolls his eyes. “Divorce requires marriage,” he says. “And I’d prefer to only do that once, Hyukjae-hyung.”

Changmin finds himself suddenly staring hard at the table, then at where his and Yunho’s hands have migrated back to touching overtop the folders.

“Gross,” Kyuhyun says, looking over at the two of them.

Changmin tries to pull his hand back, but Yunho just tightens his grip on him, and then sticks his tongue out at Kyuhyun.

 _You’re just jealous_ , he mouths, and Changmin can’t tell if he’s talking to Kyuhyun, or to Ara. Sweat beads on his neck, but he doesn’t let go. He allows himself this. For however long it takes for Siwon-hyung to haggle with Hyukjae-hyung, Changmin can have this. Besides, he and Yunho don’t use their separate rooms. Changmin is prepared for the consequences.

\--

Hyukjae-hyung, Donghae-hyung, Amber, and Henry all fly out of New York City the next day, economy class tickets for Haneda airport in their itineraries, and a tentative timeline and plan coming together via phone calls with Yunho in all their various airport layovers.

Heechul-hyung and Siwon-hyung hop islands to shadow Oshiro Isamu as well, because even though they don’t have a definite date for the job beyond ‘before we announce our engagement ahead of the merger announcement in February 2019,’ Heechul-hyung will need weeks of contact with Isamu in order to convincingly forge him in the dream.

This leaves Yunho alone with Changmin and Ara and Kyuhyun, and things get… awkward.

Ara is Yunho’s friend and maybe ex-girlfriend.

Kyuhyun is Changmin’s friend and definitely a thorn in his side.

Ara and Kyuhyun are basically strangers.

Yunho and Changmin are basically married.

Naturally, Heechul-hyung’s conference calls keeping them all appraised of the job prep are the highlight of the following month and a half. The first one is pretty standard. Changmin has Heechul-hyung spout off some hastily written poetry, the other man does so with great gusto, and then theu get into the nitty gritty of when the job is going down.

Siwon-hyung says, “Dad wants me to announce our engagement on Valentine’s day.”

Ara makes a noise, almost like she thinks that’s sweet, and freaking Yunho takes her hands in agreement.

Heechul-hyung says, “How are we going to get ten plus hours with him?” while ignoring the both of them.

“That’s a good point,” Kyuhyun says, in a rare turn of actually being helpful for once. “The actual job doesn’t have to take the full time, but you should leave enough leeway to be safe.”

“We could kidnap him,” Heechul-hyung says. “Can we kidnap him? I’ve always wanted to kidnap someone.”

Changmin wishes the man could see his expression. “We are not kidnapping him,” he says. “That would draw too much attention.”

“Spoil sport,” Heechul-hyung says.

“What about surgery?” Ara asks. “The dentist?”

Changmin frowns. “He hasn’t got anything scheduled,” he says.

“I could break his legs,” Kyuhyun offers.

They all swivel to look at him, some of them more horrified looking than others.

“Or… not. I’m just saying, it’d give him a reason to be sedated for ten hours.”

“It’d also be most likely to make Ayame wise to us,” Yunho says dryly, leader and voice of reason in these dark times. Then he adds, “it might make her think someone is trying to kill her son,” and Changmin has to fight not to roll his eyes.

“Yunho-hyung, for the last time, Yakuza movies are not real life—”

“Rich people are not real life!” Yunho retorts, rounding on Changmin with a flush riding high across the bridge of his nose. “If someone took out both of her son’s kneecaps, she’d for sure think someone had put a hit out on him!”

“Um, I’m rich?” Siwon-hyung says. “And real?”

“Yundol and Changdol are rich and real,” Heechul-hyung assures him. “There there. Ignore them.”

“We are not breaking Kaito’s legs,” Yunho says loudly, speaking over all of them. “Any other suggestions?’

Kyuhyun very wisely remains silent.

“We’re making the engagement announcement in New York?” Siwon-hyung offers after a pause. “At the unveiling of the new building.” He’s probably making a face, all the more apparent by the way Heechul-hyung practically coos. “Kaito and I are set to be in charge of the company’s move west.”

Changmin thinks that over. “So you’ll all be flying from Tokyo to New York,” he says. “The… day before the announcement.” He does the math. “Could work.”

Yunho nods. “That gives us five months,” he says. “Plenty of time.”

“I’ll call Hyukjae-hyung,” says Changmin. When Yunho looks at him, “They should fly with us. They could use the time with Ayame.”

Yunho frowns. “That’s a lot of people in one plane.”

“Private plane,” Changmin argues. “Siwon-hyung has an airline.”

Siwon-hyung makes a noise like he’s swallowed a lemon. “That’s true, I do, but… There’ll be more than just Kaito and Ayame on the flight.”

Changmin scowls, hating to be caught unawares, especially in front of Yunho on a job.

“So we get him another flight,” he says. “Sorry.” He shoots Yunho a look. “I’d assumed we’d have inside help.” He grins, unable to help himself, and mouths the words, ‘rich people.’

Yunho grins back at him, amused.

Kyuhyun clears his throat loudly, but Siwon-hyung speaks first.

“I’m not drugging the entire plane, Changmin-ah,” he snaps. “It’s risky enough as it is talking about the engagement with my dad—” He breaks off, clearly annoyed, and Changmin ought to apologize, but he’s far too busy making eyes at Yunho. “It’s easier if it’s just Kaito and I on a separate plane,” he finishes. “Can we make that work?”

“We can make that work,” Yunho says, sobering. “Right?”

“Yes,” Changmin agrees. “That’ll be six of us total—plus Kaito. That’s too many for a 747.”

“The Queen of the Skies herself,”Ara says, tone hushed.

Changmin shares a grin with her, then frowns.

“I guess two of us will have to be flight attendants.”

Like one, most of them turn to look at Ara.

She stares back, then scoffs. “Um, no,” she says. “It’s 2018 you sexist dickheads.”

Changmin winces, cowed.

“It’ll do it,” Kyuhyun says, not looking away from Ara, expression deadly serious. “I’m just the first level down anyway.”

Changmin fights the urge to twitch, that time Kyuhyun very seriously tried to date Qian at the very forefront of his mind, and not at all equipped to handle his best friend having the same taste in girls as Yunho _and_ Changmin.

Ara smiles, smug.

“We should still call Hyukjae-hyung,” Changmin offers, trying not to think about it too hard. “He can play flight attendant also.”

When Yunho looks at him, Changmin smiles.

“He’s going to want to be close to the job,” he says. “He’ll want to make sure you pay—” That’s aimed at Siwon-hyung, who sighs audibly over the line. “And he’s good in a crisis.” Changmin doesn’t say that he’s already making plans to call Minho, who no doubt would jump at the chance to be even peripherally involved in something as high stakes as an inception, and would gladly buy a business class seat on their plane to be around in case the entire thing goes up in flames and Changmin and Yunho need to get out of the country ASAP.

Changmin’s jaw twitches but he continues.

“I trust him.”

That Hyukjae-hyung’s best friend is a backstabbing coward, notwithstanding.

It’s good enough for Yunho. “Okay,” he says. “And we can use Korean Air?”

Siwon-hyung pauses. “Yeah,” he replies, grudging. “My least favorite cousins—”

“Sorry, your family _owns_ Korean Air?” Ara says, voice strangled. “That thing about the airline wasn’t just hyperbole?”

Siwon-hyung makes an embarrassed sounding noise. “I mean not publicly,” he says. “And not really? The Chois are mostly all in the energy sector, but, uh, a cousin married in—”

“Still,”Ara says. “Damn.” She sits back in her seat. “I absolutely do not feel bad about how much you’re paying me now.”

Siwon-hyung laughs.

Changmin bites back the urge to say, ‘see, rich people?’ but Yunho can tell he’s thinking it, because they exchange another amused look.

 

* * *

 

Hyukjae-hyung has only twenty minutes to spare, busy as he is fighting with Donghae-hyung about the logistics of a medieval dream. When Changmin calls him, he picks up mid-sentence. “Hey, Chwang—Donghae-yah! For the last time, you cannot make a jousting arena! I know you love Game of Thrones but the theme doesn’t make _any sense_.”

Changmin hears Donghae-hyung respond: “You’re no fun, Hyuk.”

“That’s not what you were saying last night,” Hyukjae-hyung says promptly.

Changmin pulls the phone away from his face with a frown. “Gross, Hyung,” he says.

“I didn’t take you for a prude, Changmin-ah,” Hyukjae-hyung says mildly. “Or homophobic?”

“I am currently enlisting your help to break off Siwon-hyung’s incredibly gay wedding,” Changmin says. “Firstly, because Siwon-hyung isn’t in love with the guy, and second, because the guy is in love with some _other_ guy.” He scowls. “I am not homophobic—”

“Okay, okay,” Hyukjae-hyung says. “Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Changmin really would like to throttle him.

“And you’re wrong,” Hyukjae-hyung says.

Changmin’s eye starts to twitch. “About?”

“The first reason you’re doing this,” Hyukjae-hyung says. “The other stuff could be true too, I don’t know, but the first reason you’re doing this is because Yunho-hyung asked you—”

“Okay, Hyukjae-hyung, the reason I called you is because we need you to play flight attendant when we fly to New York to announce the engagement in February,” Changmin says quickly.

Hyukjae-hyung stops, clearly considering that. “And you figured you’d put me to work since there’s no way I’d let you keep me in a warehouse before Siwon-hyung has the chance to pay me,” he says.

“It’s first class?” Changmin offers, wincing. “Siwon-hyung owns the airline?”

“Oh, Siwonnie owns the airline,” Hyukjae-hyung says, laughing to himself. “Right, that’s fine,” he says. “We haven’t started dreaming with her yet, by the way.”

Changmin mulls that over, pulling out a moleskin to take notes. Computers and tablets are good, but nothing beats handwriting for security, and for ease. “Oh?”

“Hae’s taking his sweet time on the design,” Hyukjae-hyung says. “And Amber wants us to do another case of her joint.”

Changmin snorts.

“The place is ridiculous,” Hyukjae-hyung says. “Is this how rich people live, Changmin-ah?”

Changmin shrugs, clearly not the person to answer that question.

“Never mind. Ask Siwon next time you speak to him,” Hyukjae-hyung answers himself. “She’s got like… valet for her valet for her valet, Changmin-ah. We found her jewelry box, and that thing could fund a college education.”

Changmin snorts. “Chaebols,” he says. “Or… Zaibatsu?”

Hyukjae-hyung makes a low whistle. “Anyway, she had some weird shit in there too. Like this old ring? Really simple, one diamond, but old. Like, the other stuff was in perfect condition, but this one wasn’t. It was almost like she was afraid to take it out.”

“But she had,” Amber pipes in. “Her prints were all over it.”

“Her prints were all over it, though,” Hyukjae-hyung repeats, in case Changmin missed that.

He underlines the sentence, frowning. “Do you know why?’ he asks.

Hyukjae-hyung makes a non-committal noise. “No idea,” he says. “Rich people?”

There’s a pause, then he must hand Donghae-hyung the phone, because the other man speaks next. “Chwang-ah,” he says loudly. “Can you look into a name for me?”

Amber starts talking in the background, no doubt grumbling about how she doesn’t understand why she can’t look into it—

“For the last time, Amber-yah, we need you to focus on Ayame—”

“Yeah, okay, Oppa, fine—”

“Honda Naoki,” Donghae-hyung says, taking advantage of their argument to say it before anyone can hear,

“Oh, _fuck_ , Oppa, did you hear it—”

“For the last time—”

“Yeah, _okay—_ ”

Changmin writes the name down in hiragana, frowning. “Okay,” he says. “Any particular reason?”

Donghae-hyung doesn’t say anything, but probably shrugs. “Just a hunch,” he says.

“Okay,” Changmin says.

“Anyway, we’ll fly with you guys in February,” Hyukjae-hyung says, taking the phone back. “Talk soon, yeah, Changmin?”

Changmin agrees. “Sure.”

“And tell that Hyung of yours to give us a call too,” Hyukjae-hyung finishes with. “I’m starting to think he’s forgotten about us doing his dirty work—”

Changmin thinks of Yunho, bent over papers and scribbling on scrap paper, forgoing sleep in favor of trying to craft them something that will stand up to the team’s muster and also end with them getting Kaito to call off his engagement.

“I’ll tell him,” he says, with absolutely no intention of doing so.

Hyukjae-hyung laughs. “Don’t lie,” he says. Then, quieter: “You know he’s not worth it, if he doesn’t know.”

Changmin swallows heavily for a few awkward moments. “Thank you for your opinion,” he says finally. “But he does know.”

Then he hangs up, suddenly sick to his stomach, and not at all in the mood for the questions that answer no doubt has invited in.

 

* * *

 

“In my dark room, the sound of breathing cannot be hidden,” Heechul-hyung says a week later, calling in to Changmin’s secure line.

Changmin clicks around on his laptop, waiting for the connection to ping secure.

Heechul-hyung keeps speaking, tone odd. “The heart fluttering feeling can’t be hidden either,” he says. “It’s awkward. I’m already stiff.”

Changmin confirms they’re good, and nods at the rest of them. “We’re good,” he says looking first at Yunho, then at Kyuhyun, then at Ara.

“Is this porn, Changmin?” says Heechul-hyung. “Did you write this? Is this your go-to secret password material? Erotica—”

“Heechul-hyung, hi,” Changmin says loudly. “I’m assuming Siwon-hyung is with you?”

“Oh, Siwon’s here,” Heechul-hyung dismisses airily. “Do you need him to talk about your masturbatory habits also?”

Kyuhyun chokes on air, and he’s not the only one.

Changmin stares straight forward and powers on. “We’re calling you to get an update on your progress,” he says.

“It is, isn’t it,” says Heechul-hyung, clearly having returned to his original question about erotica, or something. “Changdol. You dog.”

Changmin could run through the whole, ‘no, it’s Changmin’ thing again, but he doesn’t think it’s worth it. He doesn’t pinch the bridge of his nose either. “Right, so, if you could update us, Hyung?” he says. “That would be great.”

“Oshiro Isamu is so tragically perfect that I’m almost insulted on Siwonnie’s fiancé’s behalf,” Heechul-hyung rattles off immediately. “The man practically farts rainbows, and probably volunteers at soup kitchens out of the goodness of his heart.”

Ara frowns. “Isn’t that why most people do that?” she tries to ask, but Heechul-hyung steamrolls right over her.

“Also he’s hot,” he reports. “Like, smoking hot.”

Kyuhyun makes a noise like he’s swallowed his tongue, but Yunho is the one who actually looks the most flustered.

Heechul-hyung keeps going before Changmin can think more of that. “Totally Yurobbong’s type,” the man says happily. “I didn’t really see it when you showed me the photos, but in person.” He breaks off and whistles in appreciation. “Totally see it.”

Yunho’s the one choking on his own breath now.

Changmin squints at him. “What?”

Yunho doesn’t meet his eyes; just sputters. “Heechul-hyung!” His voice is very high.

“Unfortunately, you were also right about the still being in love with Kaito thing,” says Heechul-hyung, not at all seemingly bothered by Yunho’s reaction, or by the bombshell he’s in the process of dropping on their little group.

Changmin is almost impressed. Heechul-hyung isn’t even in the same room, and Yunho is choking on _nothing_. That’s worthy of awe. If Changmin could think beyond the sudden urge to murder Oshiro Isamu, Changmin would probably clap or something.

As it stands, it falls to Kyuhyun to steer the conversation back around. “So do you think you can convincingly forge him on levels one and two?” he says, voicing what Changmin ought to be focusing on. The semantics of the extremely well paying, complicated job. The job they are all working. In five months.

Heechul-hyung scoffs. “Please. I can forge him in my sleep.”

There’s a beat.

“Ha, you get it?” Heechul-hyung laughs at his own joke. “Because we’re going into his dreams—”

“I’m glad you’re confident about forging Isamu,” Yunho interrupts finally, collecting himself and finding his voice. He shoots Changmin a check-in look that’s so haunting similar to that time he and Changmin met but not quite met Park Jinyoung, that it takes Changmin’s breath away. It should be a warning sign. It’s not.

Changmin finds himself lifting a brow back anyway, taps an errant finger against the naked skin of his ring finger automatically, and then pales when Yunho catches that.

Shit. Fuck. If Changmin’s lucky, Yunho will just let it go. He puts his hands in his lap under their makeshift desk in case just to be safe, heart pounding.

“Maybe you’ll actually have eyes for someone other than Changdol, Yundol,” says Heechul-hyung, for once helpful in his unfortunate interruption.

Changmin snaps out of it, finally able to focus on the job.

Yunho looks away from Changmin instantly, cheeks a little flushed again. “I told you that in confidence, Hyung!” he says, which isn’t, ‘no I don’t think Oshiro Isamu is attractive.’

Even after the scare, Changmin still wants to beat his chest a little, wants to be visibly and justifiably annoyed, but shouldn’t be. Can’t be. Which is just annoying, and confusing, and giving Changmin mental constipation.

“What, that you think the mark’s boyfriend could get it, or your unfortunate obsession with Changminnie’s nostrils?” asks Heechul-hyung, because at least one of them is having fun.

Changmin fingers the body part in question before he can help himself, confused, and Kyuhyun positively loses it, braying with laughter.

Ara finally leaves their huddle, going to pick up part of an architecture model she and Changmin had been working on for the first level.

Heechul-hyung is still going. “If it’s the second one, though, Yurobbong, I hate to break it to you, but you’re so obvious it’s painful,” he says. “Also, how attached are we to the butterfly effect approach?”

Changmin hates that he attached an actually important question the rest of his bullshit about Yunho and Changmin’s _nostrils_. “Not that attached,” he says anyway, since Heechul-hyung is the best, and he knows most of all that Yunho isn’t married to the plan, and is actually anxious about figuring out an alternative. “It’s a little heavy-handed,” he explains.

Yunho actually has the gall to shoot him a betrayed look in response. “How would you suggest we get him to break off his marriage?” Yunho says. “If you have an idea, by all means—”

“I’m not an extractor,” says Changmin.

“You’re point,” puts in Kyuhyun helpfully. Then, less helpfully, “You’re as good as—”

“Heechul-hyung isn’t an extractor,” Yunho says.

“Heechul-hyung is one of the best in the business,” Changmin says. “And why aren’t you asking Siwon-hyung. Siwon-hyung is an extractor—”

“Siwon-hyung is the client,” Yunho argues. “He’s got a conflict of interest—”

“He’s got a starring role on level one,” Changmin says. “He’s playing a character on level three—”

“Again, if you have any better ideas—”

“Is this going to end with the two of you hate fucking?” Heechul-hyung interrupts suddenly, completely throwing off Changmin’s momentum. “Because otherwise—Yunho-yah, take a knee. Changmin-ah, don’t bite anyone’s head off. I’m the one with the issue with the plan.”

Changmin grumbles since that’s true but keeps silent because Heechul-hyung sounds like he means business.

“But if it is,” Heechul-hyung continues again, voice going amused again. “Kyuhyun-ah.”

Kyuhyun stands to attention. “Yes, Hyung.”

“I’m going to need you to film it and send it to me over Changmin’s secure network. I know you can hack it. Don’t look at me like that, Changmin, you know he can hack it too.”

Changmin scowls, embarrassed, and not about to admit to that. “I’m not looking at you any way. I’m on the phone.”

“Call it something mundane like ‘that time fire met water,’” Heechul-hyung says. “‘Sat on water.’” He pauses. “‘Was sat on by water?’”

It’s because of the imagery that that particular set of sentences invokes that Yunho is the one who has to stop to him, because Changmin still has the sensory memory of both options, and goes a little cross-eyed thinking about it.

“What suggestion do you have for the first level, then, Heechul-hyung?” asks Yunho loudly, pointedly looking at no one.

“I don’t know,” replies Heechul-hyung, unbothered by the interruption. “Something with his mother?”

Changmin and Yunho can’t help but nod.

“I just mean if you’re still dead set on making it about her,” hedges Heechul-hyung.

“I am,” says Yunho. “If it’s just ‘I don’t want to marry Choi Siwon’ then it’s not worth it. That’s not newsworthy. Or a big deal. We know he doesn’t want to marry Siwon.”

After a pause and a thump, they all hear Siwon-hyung over the phone. “Ow,” he says. “I might work out, but I’m still mortal, Hyung, please.”

Changmin tries not to have a mental picture of what’s going on.

“Hey,” Siwon-hyung says after another audible thump. “I resent that. Plenty of people want to marry me.”

“Nonsense, I’ve seen your biceps. You’re a machine, Siwon-ah. And I’d marry you,” says Heechul-hyung. “But to return to Ayame? You should call Eunhyukie.”

Kyuhyun has started elbowing Changmin viciously in the side, and Changmin shoves him back just as hard, uncaring as his friend nearly falls over in the middle of the warehouse.

“What?” Siwon-hyung seems honestly confused by the turn of events.

“Changmin just touched base with Hyukjae actually,” Yunho says helpfully, since Changmin had called Hyukjae-hyung only hours before to see how things were going. They’d done a dream, Donghae-hyung didn’t include jousting, and Ayame seemed the none the wiser about her nighttime visitors. Mostly she’d just watched Kaito and Isamu together looking nostalgic, supposedly—Donghae-hyung wanted to know more about the name, Honda Naoki, but Changmin and Hyukjae-hyung had been more focused on the fact that she was wearing the ring.

“It’s definitely the one from her jewelry box, and she wears it on her left hand,” Hyukjae-hyung had said, and Changmin needed to be prompted twice because he couldn’t help but think about him and Yunho, forever doomed to sport matching wedding bands.

“Things are going well,” Yunho continues, heedless of Changmin’s minor trip down memory lane and accompanying minor breakdown. “Donghae and Henry can’t agree on dream locations, though.”

“Donghae’s just jealous Henry actually worked for an architecture firm,” says Kyuhyun, with a grin. “Or he wants him to leave so he can bone Hyukjae. A man has needs, and all.”

Ara looks between all of them from her place of safety behind the models, eyes wide. “I can see why Unnie didn’t want me to take the job,” she says. “You guys are practically incestuous—”

“I resent that,” calls Heechul-hyung in mirror of Siwon-hyung earlier, further proof he was the one thumping and prompting the interjection. “Just because we use familial kinship terms for lovers does not make us deviants—”

“She’s speaking Korean, you dipshit. What do you mean ‘we’?” mutters Changmin, unfortunately loud enough for Heechul-hyung to hear.

“Disphit?” he near shouts. “I was born five years before you, you ungrateful little—”

“Okay, Hyung, bye, thanks for touching base with us, we’ll call Hyukjae and get back to you!” says Yunho quickly over top of him, gesturing frantically for Changmin to hang up the call.

“Yah! Yurobbong! Stop thinking with your dick and protecting him! He’s not worth it! I’m older than you as well—”

“Have fun with Siwonnie, Hyung, bye!” choruses Yunho, in time for Changmin to hang up.

Thankfully the man can’t call back.

Changmin could kiss himself for that bit of ingenuity.

“Phew,” Yunho exhales verbally. “That was close.”

“I’ll say,” Ara mutters.

“Do you think Heechul-hyung and Siwon-hyung will have a spring wedding, after Kaito’s broken up with him?” Kyuhyun says.

“I’ll actually go call Hyukjae-hyung,” Changmin says quickly, closing his laptop and getting to his feet to go into the hallway for privacy. He grabs Ayame’s folder.

“I’ll go with you,” Yunho says.

“No, you don’t have to,” Changmin says.

“It’s fine,” Yunho says.

“It is fine,” Kyuhyun says, and then yelps when Ara throws a protractor at him. “Woman! Those things are sharp!”

“Too bad you aren’t,” Ara retorts, then grins to soften the blow.

Changmin smiles to himself as he goes, but goes, Yunho following.

“Yunho-hyung,” he starts to say as they round the corner and are moderately more alone. “You don’t have to come—”

Yunho doesn’t stop where Changmin does and just keeps coming, pausing when their toes are touching and their noses could be brushing. He puts a hand to Changmin’s lips. “Shh, Changdol,” he says.

Changmin feels his heart start rocketing at full speed in his chest. “Um, Hyung?” he tries.

“You don’t need to call Hyukjae,” Yunho says, gaze fixed on Changmin’s mouth.

Changmin kind of can’t breathe. “Hyung?” he tries again.

“Do you really think my plan is bad?” asks Yunho, still looking at Changmin’s lips. It’s distracting and terrible and Changmin’s going to shake out of his own skin, he thinks.

“Er,” he says. “Do you really think Oshiro Isamu is hot?” he asks, which was not what he wanted to say _at all_.

Yunho’s eyes go dark, and somehow he steps even _closer_.

Changmin would swallow for nerves, but he’s afraid if he moves, breathes, Yunho might do something stupid like kiss him.

“I’m going to kiss you now, Changdol,” Yunho says, because he’s a mind reader. He stops looking at Changmin’s mouth, then starts looking at Changmin’s eyes. “If you don’t want me to, say something now?”

 _Please don’t_ , Changmin should say. _We’re working_ , Changmin should say. _Are we really going to do this with Kyu and Ara right here_? Changmin might at least ask. “I want,” says Changmin’s dumb, traitorous, longing mouth, because that’s the answer, always, no matter the costs.

Yunho makes a pleased, happy little noise in the back of his throat, and then leans in so that Changmin can get up close and personal with the hum of his lips, the sigh of his breath. “Good,” he breathes, right up against the seam of Changmin’s lips, before Changmin loses it, and forgets himself, and puts a hand on the back of Yunho’s neck and pulls, sealing their mouths together in a kiss that has been nearly three months coming.

Yunho moans a little automatically, stepping closer still, and Changmin goes helpfully up against the wall, using his greater height to his advantage with years of practice. He slips his tongue past Yunho’s pleased little groans without so much as a thought, licking behind the man’s teeth and sliding his hand down to palm over the man’s chest, sighing.

It’s too good, too easy, and Changmin doesn’t remember not how to excel at kissing Yunho, can’t turn off the part of his brain that knows how much tongue, teeth, and hands Yunho likes in his kisses. He’s got a thigh between Yunho’s and one hand up his shirt clawing at his lower back in what feels like two seconds flat, hips starting to thrust, when Yunho breaks away from his mouth with a gasp, breathing hard.

“Fuck, Changmin,” he blurts, voice wrecked, “Breathing is good—”

Changmin’s heart twinges and Changmin’s lungs burn but his brain keeps shouting, ‘no we don’t. Not here. Not ever. That’s the good thing about dreams—’ like the world’s most sobering cold shower.

Air rushes back into Changmin’s lungs so hard it almost hurts, burning like he’s run a marathon. He stands up against the wall and keeps breathing, eyes wide, and Yunho stares back at him.

His mouth is pink and glossy and freshly kissed. His lashes keep fluttering, like he can’t help himself. Changmin knows he can’t. Yunho always gets like that, shy and stuttering and a little dopey. He thinks of wedding cakes and wedding dances and the look in Yunho’s eyes when he shoved more than just a handful straight down the back of his shirt, the way the first time they tried it ended with them dismissing their audience and fucking in the banquet hall, distracted and laughing and licking icing out of places icing should never be.

Changmin’s chest aches.

“Changmin?” Yunho says finally. His voice is hoarse. His mouth is tentative. Changmin thinks he could have this, again, today, and suddenly is so terrified he could almost shake with it.

“I have to go,” he manages, looking anywhere but Yunho. “I—”

Yunho seems to collect himself, standing to his full height. He makes to cross his arms, clearly thinks better of that, and then steps pointedly to the left so that Changmin has a clear line to the exit. “Did you,” he says. “Did you not want—”

“No,” Changmin says, emphatic, because he can’t stand to see that look in Yunho’s eyes, even if that’s safer, better, what he should do. “No. I wanted—”

Yunho steps closer again almost like he can’t help himself, like he’s going to kiss Changmin again, and Changmin needs to leave immediately.

He jumps, nervous, and freaking out, and clumsy with it. Says, “We should rejoin the others—”

“Changmin-ah—”

“We’ll talk about it later—”

Yunho puts a hand on his shoulder almost consolingly and Changmin jumps again, hates himself for the look that puts on Yunho’s face, is two seconds from saying fuck it and pulling him back in for more.

The folder he’s gripping flutters to the floor, papers falling haphazardly in the spaces between them.

“Shit,” Changmin swears, crouching down to grab them. “I just alphabetized those.”

Yunho ducks down to help him, hands and tone gentle. “You can alphabetize them again,” he says. “You’re good at that.” He twists his fingers above a scan of Maeda Ayame’s high school yearbook. “At—” He breaks off, awkward, but commits anyway. “Compartmentalizing.”

Changmin stares at him, feeling the words like a physical blow. “What?” he says. “Yunho-hyung. No.”

Yunho looks back at him, mouth still pink, but eyes kind. “It’s because we work together, right?” he says.

Changmin wants to take him in his arms and hold him, tell him everything, ruin everything, bare himself clean. But he can’t, not when so much is riding on them completing this job. Not when Heechul-hyung and Ara and Kyuhyun are depending on this job. Not when Ara, as good as a stranger, Yunho’s _ex_ , is depending on this job. Not when he doesn’t think he could take it, not when he’s still insisting on sleeping in the same room with the man because if he has to wake up to Yunho holding a gun in his hands _one more time—_

“It’s okay,” Yunho says, interrupting Changmin’s panicked thoughts. He picks up the yearbook photos and hands them to Changmin with a smile. “I understand.”

Changmin stares. _No, you don’t, and that’s the problem_ , he thinks, and starts to say, before a look down at the photos changes everything. Ayame is the first thing he sees, since she’s one of the only girls in the club—the environmental club, among all things, which was why Changmin included it in the folder; it was funny, it might be relevant, given Isamu’s work—but the boy next to her, staring at _her_ , and not at the camera catches his attention too.

His name, according to the caption, is Honda Naoki.

Changmin’s brain whirrs. “Hyung,” he says, aware they’re holding hands now, but unable to care. “What was that name? That Donghae-hyung said?” Yunho knows, because Changmin tells him everything, especially on a case—especially when every night before sleep they’ve spent hours going over details and trying to figure out a plan.

Yunho looks down at the photo also, seemingly unbothered by the hand-holding. “Honda Naoki?” he says.

Changmin puts a thumb on the name and tips the photo towards Yunho. “Honda Naoki,” he says.

Yunho takes the photo and let’s go of Changmin’s hand. “Honda Naoki is a real person,” he says.

Changmin nods, already thinking of plans, deciding on how to follow up leads, starting with getting his hands on a physical copy of the year book. “I have to—” he says, standing.

Yunho nods, picking up the folder and starting to pick up the papers. “Go,” he says. “You won’t mind if I don’t alphabetize these, though, Changdol, will you?”

Changmin turns back towards him, scowling.

Yunho grins back, utterly unconcerned. It’s like nothing happened in this hallway besides Changmin finally having a lead. “I’ve got to keep you on your toes, Changdol,” Yunho says.

Changmin rolls his eyes. “Don’t wait up,” he says.

“I always do,” Yunho says.

Honda Naoki, it turns out, was Maeda Ayame’s high school sweetheart. Poor, with a single mother, and forever reaping the benefits of being a scholarship kid head-over-heels with the school golden girl. He died, suddenly, before he was eighteen, of an illness that a few hospital stays could have saved him from. According to his mother, tracked down after pulling in three favors and maybe promising Kwon Boa a cut of Siwon-hyung’s money, the months before he got sick, all he would talk about was how he was going to _propose_ to her. Spent all his allowance money on a ring and everything.

A ring, Changmin thinks, that might be very old, and unpolished, and lying still buried under priceless gemstones in Maeda Ayame’s jewelry box.

When Changmin tells Yunho this, sitting up in bed, watching the other man over the rim of his glasses, he knows, with every inch of himself, that this is it. Their big break. The moment this job, the Maeda Job, their _Inception_ job, becomes more than something for the dreamshare community to laugh about, and instead turns into a reality.

“Good work, Changminnie,” Yunho says, earnestly, with a smile.

Changmin nods, turns off the light, and lies back in his bed, staring at the ceiling.

It’s like walking the tightrope between two high rises, Changmin thinks. Only, he’s not sure if he’s already fallen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	4. The Preparation | October 2018–January 2019

It takes Changmin leaving the room the moment Yunho enters four times in a row for Yunho to stop trying to talk about the kiss. Which really isn’t all that hard, since all Yunho’s done since learning about Honda Naoki is plot and plan. By the time Heechul-hyung is calling in, Yunho’s no longer pouting at Changmin, and has instead crafted a fully functioning plan… which totally requires more than one forger.

“You need more than one forger,” says Heechul-hyung immediately, without any complaints about Changmin’s poem choice of the day.

Changmin’s almost mad, since he was particularly proud of that one—the bit about the rain and smudged colors, he thought, was practically inspired, honestly—but mostly Changmin’s just glad to have back-up. He’d told Yunho they needed more forgers. Yunho argued. Wanted them to use Kaito’s projection. Changmin rued the day he turned twenty-one, befriended his military-hacking best friend, and met the man himself.

“Thank you,” he says, with a sharp, told-you-so sort of look towards Yunho. “I told you we can’t leave Ayame up to chance. Hyung said we should use Kaito’s _projection_ ,” he explains to the rest of them, glancing around with an eye roll.

Yunho frowns and swipes half-heartedly at him, but Changmin ducks out of his way. He’s pleased. He’s said his thing.

“Yeah, no,” says Heechul-hyung. “I’ve got too much riding on this to leave it up to chance, Yurobbong.” He pauses, amused. “Look, Siwonie loves me. _I’ll_ ask him to pay one more person if that’s what worries you.”

Yunho pouts, but not at Changmin; it’s more down at the phone. “Hyung,” he whines.

“We’ll need three forgers to be safe, probably,” Heechul-hyung decides, ignoring Yunho. “One for each of them. Kaito, Ayame, Isamu…” He trails off. “I’m assuming you’ll be one,” he says.

Yunho colors, but nods, not meeting Changmin’s eye.

“Yunho-oppa can forge?” Ara asks, head tilted to one side.

Changmin had almost forgotten she was in the room, but now he startles and looks at her.

Kyuhyun answers. “Yeah, it was standard practice for Project Somnacin. At least in Seoul. They wanted us all to do more than one thing—a back-up sort of thing, in case shit went crazy and we lost people.”

Changmin winces, but his friend powers on.

“Yunho-hyung forged. I did architecture.” Kyuhyun smiles at Ara, nodding towards her models. “Chwang… what is it you did, exactly?”

Changmin rolls his eyes. “Forged a little also,” he says.

Heechul-hyung snorts. “He spent an entire month in 2008 with blond hair—”

“They phased it out eventually,” Kyuhyun interrupts, thankfully speaking over him.

Changmin’s glad he doesn’t have to hang up on Heechul-hyung; that would not go over well.

“Not everyone was… happy with the skills they ended up with.”

Changmin snorts, thinking particularly vindictively about Jaejoong, and his never ending displeasure over how easily Yunho took to forging when extraction remained beyond him. It wasn’t like it was Yunho’s fault people didn’t want to tell Jaejoong anything, which Changmin thinks more than a little sharply, probably was indicative of future events. He scowls, hating himself a little for that train of thought.

“Anyway, Yurobbong will be our second forger,” Heechul-hyung says, ignoring the sidebar easily. “And of course, you’re a lovely person who won’t charge Siwonie extra for that,” he continues, entirely unaware of the trip Changmin’s been taking down memory lane. “So that means Siwon won’t have to completely break the bank hiring someone else. Who were we thinking? They’ll have to speak Japanese.”

There is an incredibly charged pause. Heechul-hyung’s not so oblivious after all, it seems.

“No,” Changmin says darkly, voice tight. “For one, they’re not even on the same continent.”

“Ah, right I forgot. You like to play phone tag and keep tabs,” says Heechul-hyung blithely.

Changmin wants to strangle him, or at least air all their dirty laundry here. “And also, I’d like to hire someone halfway decent,” he says instead.

Heechul-hyung barks out a startled laugh. “Oh, ouch, Changdol, I’ll tell Jaejoong you said that,” he says.

“Kim Jaejoong?” Ara interjects, expression and tone curious. “Didn’t he used to work with you until—”

“Until Crebeau,” Yunho finishes with a gravity that Changmin really hopes puts the entire thing to bed. “I was actually thinking about Qian,” Yunho adds. He glances between Changmin and Kyuhyun. “I can do Naoki, and she can do Ayame.”

Changmin welcomes the subject change, even if it comes with Kyuhyun elbowing him in the side, and Ara looking curious again.

“Actually, Yurobbong, you should know most of all that same-gender forges being easier is a myth,” says Heechul-hyung, professor-like and haughty, but Changmin tunes him out.

“Qian’s free,” he tells Yunho, thinking that over. “She’s good—discrete—”  

“Didn’t you two date?” interrupts Ara, seemingly before she can think better of the question. Then she flushes, like she’s only just realized where she is and what she’s said. And who she’s said it among. “I mean,” she says.

Heechul-hyung breaks off, laughing. “Changmin-ah,” he crows. “You dog!”

Changmin could hang up on him, or call in all his favors and replace the man with someone far less annoying, if not more English.

Yunho is looking at Changmin with dark, drawn brows. His mouth is a sad line. Changmin wants to kiss it.

“What?” he manages. “It was ages ago,’ he continues. “You know this—I _told_ you when you told me about _Ara—_ ”

Heechul-hyung makes another crowing noise. “Yurobbong slept with Go Ara?” he sputters.

Ara rolls her eyes but blushes a little. “I think you mean I slept with Yunho-oppa,” she says primly. “And you’re one to talk. At least I’ve actually acted on my feelings.” She winces, almost apologetic as she goes on to add, “Er, well, lust, I guess. Sorry, oppa,” she addresses Yunho with a smile. Then her face smoothes back out into indifference. “Unlike some of us, who are stuck hiding behind jokes.”

There is a beautiful silence.

“Oh, well done. I like you,” Heechul-hyung says. “When this is done, what do you say we work a few jobs? Taeyeon and I are always looking for good architects.”

Ara still looks a little pink, but not at all put off.

“That’s only because you never ask me,” Changmin says, tone dry, because it’s a good enough distraction from his slip up.

Yunho’s still frowning at nothing, no doubt coming up blank for when he and Changmin exchanged worst dreamshare hookup stories, but thankfully remaining silent.

“You don’t count,” Heechul-hyung says. “First of all, Yurobbong’s a possessive asshole who never lets you off your leash—” He pauses, clearly thinking. “Can you call it a leash if you ask for it?” he says. “Your self-imposed leash—ah, that sounds weird. Whatever.”

“You sound like an ad for S and M, Hyung,” chuckles Siwon-hyung in the background, the asshole.

“You’re a matched set,” Heechul-hyung finishes. “And forgive me if I don’t want to be in the same room with Jung Yunho and Kim Taeyeon plotting an extraction.”

Changmin and the rest of the room think that over.

Changmin and the rest of the room, including Yunho, shudder.

“Anyway, you should join us, Ara-yah,” says Heechul-hyung. “I won’t make fun of you for your taste in men or anything. I’ve kissed him. I get it. It’s worth it. It’s fine.”

Changmin is suddenly in full support of England and English forgers and also calling in all his favors to hire assassins who could disappear Kim Heechul like Thanos’ fucking _snap_. To be… a homicidal nerd. Fuck. Changmin is a _disaster._ He licks over his lips a few times until none of that wants to come out of his mouth.

“Qian is free,” he says instead. “I can give her a call.”

Yunho makes a small punched noise and fucking pouts some more—like he’s going to start talking about the kiss again, and Changmin really cannot afford to hang up on Heechul-hyung just to keep that from happening.

“Or Kyuhyun can—”

Kyuhyun already has his phone out, fingers skittering across the screen no doubt doing just that because he’s a good friend.

“You dated her?” Yunho’s eyes go soft and wet looking and Changmin feels his breathing pick up.

“Hyung—what—”

“I thought you didn’t do work relationships,” Yunho says, sorrowful and soulful with huge eyes.

Changmin’s going to have to kill Ara for starting this entire discussion to begin with. He’s an architect. They don’t need her.

Yunho is still throwing him puppy dog eyes.

Kyuhyun reports back: “She’s in. I assume we want her to stay with Hyukjae-hyung?”

Yunho nods. “Good thinking, Kyuhyun-ah,” he says without even looking away from Changmin.

Changmin feels sweat break out across his brow. “What?” he manages. “I mean. No. I don’t have a problem with work relationships?” His voice is really embarrassingly high. “Clearly?” he finishes. “How did you even know about that—it was one night?” he tries to address Ara and save face in the same breath.

Ara shrugs and holds up her phone, open to KakaoTalk, where she’s clearly been conferencing with Heechul-hyung and Taeyeon. “Girls,” she says pleasantly in explanation. “Gossip. You know how it is.”

Not for a second does Changmin think the women of dreamshare are merely gossiping about who’s dick has gone where, and he’s terrified. He’s suddenly infinitely relieved that he’s married. Or. Fuck. That he’s broken, ruined for anyone else—fucked up and off limits.

On Yunho’s leash, to quote Heechul-hyung.

Speaking of Yunho—

“I’m glad to hear that, Changminnie,” says Yunho brightly, practically like something out of a shoujo manga. “We can talk about the kiss after this, then.” He smiles.

Changmin will kill him—not Heechul-hyung, not Ara— _him_. “Yunho-hyung!”

Heechul-hyung sounds like a hyena.

Kyuhyun’s eyes practically bug out.

Ara looks almost sad, before collecting herself enough to give Changmin a smile.

“The kiss?” asks Heechul-hyung loudly. “Yurobbong. Changmin-ah.”

“Tell Qian I’ll let Hyukjae-hyung know to expect her,” Changmin says over top of them, only looking at Kyuhyun. His ears feel like they’re on fire.

Kyuhyun stares back at him, expression carefully blank (Changmin’s for sure going to get an earful about this later) before he snaps to attention. “What? Oh. Yes,” he says, already opening KakaoTalk.

Changmin pinches his nose. “We’ll speak to you next week, Heechul-hyung, yes?” he says, which has to be a question because Heechul-hyung is his senior, but knowing Changmin’s luck, isn’t going to do anything to diffuse the situation.

“Sure,” Heechul-hyung says immediately, and nothing more.

All the hairs stand up on the back of Changmin’s neck. “You don’t have anything else to offer about Isamu-san?” he asks, because he’s never been one to slack off in the face of danger.

“No.” Heechul-hyung is as polite as can be. “He’s still hot as sin and desperately pining for his ex, though.”

And now Changmin’s thinking about how Yunho thinks Isamu is attractive, which is doing nothing to help his nerves.

Kyuhyun looks at him and makes an involuntary noise at the expression on Changmin’s face, but Heechul-hyung doesn’t take advantage of that opening.

Changmin’s palms are sweaty with anticipation as he moves to end the call. “Well, I’ll speak to you next week, then,” he says eventually, eyes darting around the warehouse anxiously.

Yunho meets his eyes and smiles brightly.

Ara and Kyuhyun just keep texting.

“Sounds good, Changminnie, bye,” Heechul-hyung says, before clicking off the phone.

Changmin swallows, anxious.

Absolutely no one else seems affected. In fact Ara and Yunho start to go over the details necessary for the school reunion level without pause.

“—Well, it’ll just be that one building: the school. Should we make it at all like Isamu’s actually school?”

“Somewhat. You know how dreams are—”

“Right—”

Kyuhyun very dutifully shows Changmin where Qian has cursed him out for trying to insinuate she might need coddling.

Changmin swallows again. “Right, well,” he says. “If you’re all busy, I’m just going to go update my will.”

Later that week, flowers arrive to the warehouse with a musical card that blasts the English song ‘I Just Had Sex’ the moment Changmin finishes signing for them and Yunho rips the envelope open with a shout of, “Oh, Changminnie, you shouldn’t have,” because Heechul-hyung’s an asshole.

Kyuhyun pats Changmin on the back. “You should have updated Hyung’s will instead,” he says, grinning, and pats Changmin some more.

Changmin doesn’t shoot the flowers, but that’s only because they remind him of his wedding bouquet, and Yunho always smiles whenever he sees them sitting on their desk.

 

* * *

 

Ara leaves the Monday after that, once all eleven of them find the time to check in and finalize Yunho’s plan: three levels, three forgers with Kyuhyun on the first level, Qian on the second, Ara on the third, and the idea: my mother wants me to follow my heart. It becomes clear that all they can do now is keep Hyukjae-hyung and his team observing and dreaming with Ayame and Heechul-hyung and Siwon-hyung observing Isamu.

Kyuhyun stays, but mostly just because chemistry doesn’t require more than the warehouse, and also, Changmin thinks darkly, so that he can interrogate Changmin without anyone else around.

Yunho stays because he’s a workaholic perfectionist, and Changmin stays because he can’t leave Yunho, even though he spends most of October and some of November pulling routine extraction jobs for far below his paygrade in exchange for not leaving the country. None of them require more than a few days of research, only two of them involve sucking up to people who definitely tried to grab Changmin’s ass the last time they met face to face, and only one of them makes him wish he’d allowed himself to leave the country. Changmin’s been to Italy before, for El Sol Electronics in 2011 when he and Yunho were trying solo work in between TVXQ jobs, but that was before Crebeau. Before things got complicated.

Changmin works a week-long espionage job in Florence long distance, and tries his best not to dream of Italy when Kyuhyun tests variations of his compounds on him in between research.

Mid-November, Yunho takes a break to do some work in Scotland, and Changmin manages all of two hours before booking his own ticket, middle finger raised in Kyuhyun’s direction and already determining the best route to beat Yunho to Europe.

When Yunho sees him he just smiles, tells him he never liked Keith’s work anyway, and they could split Yunho’s cut if he threw a fit about it, but Changmin had to be the one to tell him.

The job takes two days longer because they miss their original flight dealing with a militarized subconscious, and by the time they’re unlocking the warehouse door, Changmin’s too tired to do more than glare at Kyuhyun when his friend whistles and then has the gall to open Heechul-hyung’s ‘I Just Had Sex’ card.

Yunho doesn’t even blink, eyes on the lone lawn chair Kyuhyun’s set up in the middle of the room. He’s like a man possessed when he sits down heavily in it, eyes already closed. His hands shake a little, leftover sense memory from when the mark’s projections started hacking parts of him off in the time it took for Changmin to get the information and curse Keith to kingdom come.

He’s got purple circles under his eyes.

He didn’t so much as protest when Changmin took his luggage at baggage claim, seemed almost relieved that they were ditching the dream weaponry in favor of passports and boarding passes.

Changmin stares at him, frowning, and then gives Kyuhyun his full attention.

His friend stares back, unbothered. After two seconds, he stands, then gestures.

Changmin follows him away from Yunho with only a mild pause. “What?”

Kyuhyun just looks at him for a few moments, then sighs. Changmin thinks his friend would hug him, if they weren’t in their thirties and criminals.

“Are you okay, Changmin-ah?” Kyuhyun says.

Changmin tips forward until he can lean his forehead against Kyuhyun’s shoulder. “No,” he admits finally.

Kyuhyun lets out another breath, then smooths gentle fingers through the hair on the back of Changmin’s head. “He doesn’t remember?” he asks.

Changmin shakes his head, unable to voice it, and also trying to get Kyuhyun’s hand off his head. “Only when we’re dreaming,” he says softly. “And not—not seriously.”

Kyuhyun gives him a squeeze. “But not when he’s dreaming?” he asks, double meaning and all.

Changmin disengages, mouth turned down at the memory. “No,” he says quickly. “Not since—” His voice breaks, ugly in the silence. “July,” Changmin finishes. He doesn’t offer the information that he and Yunho have been sleeping in the same room ever since. Kyuhyun doesn’t push him to elaborate. For two moments, they stand in painful silence.

Then, Kyuhyun says, “so you kissed him?” and the moment shatters.

Changmin scowls, but he’s grateful. “He kissed me,” he corrects instantly, shoulders rising miserably despite his relief. “And I—” He stops again, tormented, and bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to get a sore. “I still—” He can’t finish.

Kyuhyun grabs him in a hug. “Yeah,” he says without needing to hear more. “Are you sure you can’t—”

Changmin pulls away immediately, expression serious, heart pounding in his ears; eyes wild. “No,” he says. “I mean, yes, I’m sure.”

Kyuhyun winces—clearly Changmin’s holding him way too tightly, but he can’t bring himself to let go.

“You can’t tell him, Kyuhyun-ah,” Changmin says desperately. “He can’t remember—I’ll—I can’t—” His sentences slice into thirds around what can’t be sobs because he and Kyuhyun are in their thirties and criminals, hardened by stealing from the military; wizened by betrayal by their closest friends.

Kyuhyun hugs Changmin again, tighter and with more gravity. “Shh, Chwang, of course, I wasn’t going to,” he says into Changmin’s hair. “I just worry about you, is all. You’re running out of excuses for living out of the man’s pocket _without_ sticking your tongue down his throat,” he explains, because he wouldn’t be Changmin’s best friend if he didn’t offer advice and mockery in the same breath.

 _I know_ , Changmin thinks wretchedly. _I know_.

He sighs.

In the lawn chair, Yunho stirs. “There’s an awful lot of hugging going on over there,” he says without opening his eyes. “Should I be jealous?”

Changmin tries to pull away from Kyuhyun and to find his good humor. He fails on both counts.

Luckily, Kyuhyun has no such misfortune. “Oh, absolutely, Hyung,”  he calls. “Deadly so. In fact, Shim Chwang and I are going to get married once this job ends. All this talk of true love and start-crossed soulmates has inspired us.” He grins, an utter dick, but Yunho doesn’t so much as miss a beat.

“He’d have to divorce me first,” he says immediately, then opens his eyes. His brow furrows. “Right?” He shakes his head like it hurts and he’s trying to dispel the headache through centrifugal force alone, then yawns loudly and gets to his feet. “Sorry,” he tells the room at large. “I must have fallen asleep.” He stretches, back cracking, then finally seems to see Kyuhyun and Changmin both. His head tips to one side. “Why are you two embracing?” he says.

For two terrible seconds, Changmin stays frozen, drawing in aching breaths.

Then he and Kyuhyun separate, his best friend slapping Changmin hard on the back, and Changmin laughing like a nervous idiot.

“I missed him—”

“He missed me—”

They start and stop simultaneously, breaking out into even more frenzied, anxious laughter—although on Kyuhyun’s part, he sounds actually amused.

“You were gone for a long time,” Kyuhyun says eventually. “Like… a week.”

“A week,” Changmin agrees.

“A guy can’t miss his best friend and give him a hug when he sees him again after a week?” Kyuhyun laughs and scrubs a hand through his hair. “Pretty hypocritical coming from you, Yunho-hyung, given how you practically pee on Changmin when anyone so much as smiles at him—”

“Yeah, okay, Kyuhyun, thanks,” Changmin nearly shouts, voice high. “Are you tired, Yunho-hyung?” He addressesYunho immediately following, before the man can think any more about his friend’s last sentence. “We can go back to the apartment if you want—”

Yunho yawns, unable to help himself it seems, but wipes at his mouth stubbornly anyway. He shakes his head. “No,” he replies. “No. We’ve been gone for a week, as you said.” He looks at Kyuhyun with suddenly serious eyes. “You were talking about how you thought you’d figured out a kick, Kyuhyun-ah?” he asks, all business.

Changmin frowns at him, but Kyuhyun nods.

“Uh, yeah,” he says with only one check-in glance towards Changmin. “Yeah. So, three levels down means we can’t just shoot ourselves awake,” he explains, heading over to his work station to grab a vial. “Which is a problem, since eight hours of dream time is like seven years on level three.”

Changmin tracks his math with a wince, trying not to think about the last time he spent seven years in a dream.

“But I think I figured it out so that falling will work,” Kyuhyun finishes, tossing his vial into the air, and then pocketing it too fast for Changmin to follow. He opens his hand with a flourish, cocky and in his element.

Changmin can’t help but exchange an eye roll with Yunho, bemused.

“Inner ear function,” Kyuhyun says, grinning. He gives the desk chair in front of him a tip, watching as the legs re-center and tap back down onto the ground with a clack. “Want to give it a try?” The expression on his face is the picture of innocence, grin wide and earnest. He waggles his eyebrows. “Changmin-ah?”

Changmin rolls up his sleeves and sighs. “If this ends up on the internet, I’m killing you and hiding the body,” he says, but sits in the chair anyway.

Kyuhyun hooks him up to the PASIV happily. “I’m glad you missed me too, Chwang-ah,” he says, and then presses center button on the machine.

 

* * *

 

By the beginning of December, Heechul-hyung has studied Isamu to his heart’s content, and then some. The plan was three months on the dot, but then Isamu’s non-profit had a particularly inspiring late-fall-into-winter, and Heechul-hyung decided to stick around a few extra weeks before putting in his metaphorical two-weeks-notice.

It’s been good.

He’s confident in his ability to forge Isamu.

Yunho’s been practicing being Honda Naoki.

Ara’s got all three levels planned down to the blueprints.

They all gather together in the same room for the first time since it all began. Qian and Amber are already conspiring to make Changmin’s life a living hell for the remainder of the job, and by the time Heechul-hyung comes whirling through the doors, Changmin is well on his way to what might be a nervous break-down.

It doesn’t help that the holidays are looming in the form of the mini Christmas tree on Yunho’s desk; Kyuhyun’s plans to finally ditch them to go celebrate with his school friends and maybe his sister; Ara’s talk about her mother’s home cooking; Henry’s discussions about the difference between the holidays abroad and the holidays in Canada.

Heechul-hyung lets the door slam in his wake, startling everyone, and makes a beeline for Kyuhyun. He nearly bowls Changmin over and grabs a pair of scissor off Ara’s desk on his way, not even pausing to tip them down. “Kyuhyun-ah!” he says. “Cut it off!”

Kyuhyun blinks, amused, but sets about eyeballing Heechul-hyung’s long, red hair for a few moments, anyway.

“Cut it off,” Heechul-hyung says again, clearly twitchy.

Kyuhyun takes the scissors, but then sets them down on the table beside him. “You should dye it first,” he offers, which actually sounds like decent advice, so Heechul-hyung visibly deflates.

“Ugh, you’re right,” he says, as Siwon-hyung stumbles through the door dragging all three suitcases.

Yunho and Donghae-hyung hurry to help him, steadying him and carrying the luggage towards the center of the room. Donghae-hyung ends up with a handful of suitcases, Yunho ends up with a handful of Siwon-hyung, who grins, then laughs, and slides his hands all over the small of Yunho’s back.

“Sorry, Yunho-hyung,” he says.

Changmin tries not to bite off his own tongue.

“How as your flight?” Yunho says, not at all bothered. He throws the sentence back towards Heechul-hyung as well, giving Siwon-hyung one last pat on the back before turning to face the rest of the room.

Siwon-hyung finally releases him, but not before giving his hip a squeeze.

Changmin totally doesn’t growl, because that would be below him, but unfortunately his stomach starts to turn itself in anxious knots.

In the corner, Qian and Amber link arms with Ara, before glancing knowingly towards Changmin.

Changmin’s belly churns with even more nerves.

“Good,” Heechul-hyung says. “Pointless,” he adds, looking at Yunho. “Sorry for yelling, Kyuhyun-ah,” he finishes, sounding chagrined.

Kyuhyun dips his head, clearly unbothered.

Changmin widens his eyes, thinking how he was the one who nearly got run over.

“It’s just itchy,” Heechul-hyung continues. He turns and pushes past Changmin for a second time, grabbing one of the suitcases from Siwon-hyung and Donghae-hyung.

Changmin sputters. “Hey!”

Heechul-hyung pretends not to notice. “Sorry, Siwon-ah,” he says instead. “I’m just tired of being a redhead.”

Changmin gives up, rolling his eyes, but crosses to his own bag to pull out hair dye. He hurls it at Heechul-hyung, then tries not to look impressed when the man catches it one-handed without even looking.

Qian and Amber and Ara are still looking smugly between him and Yunho, but since Yunho has started looking over notes with Hyukjae-hyung behind Siwon-hyung, Changmin doesn’t pay them any mind.

“Here,” he says. “We wouldn’t want you to itch, Hyung.”

Heechul-hyung makes a noise to indicate he’s heard, but practically tears into the box of hair dye like a man possessed.

Kyuhyun squints between the two of them for a few moments. “Why do you carry hair dye with you?” he says.

Heechul-hyung cackles, gleeful, and then disappears into the bathroom dragging, for some reason, Siwon-hyung.

Henry passes them on his way out of the bathroom drying his hands on his jeans. “Oh. Heechul-hyung,” he says. “Siwon-hyung. Hi.” He blinks, pausing, before continuing towards Kyuhyun and Changmin with his eyes wide.

“Because of that,” Changmin explains, and makes a hasty retreat away from the girls, who zero in on Henry like their youngest is either fresh meat or a teddy bear.

“Henry!” Amber calls. “Come tell Ara about that thing you’ve been working with unconscious architecture!”

Henry goes, and Changmin tries not to be jealous—that sounds fascinating, honestly, and Changmin would hate to be seen as behind in the community—but Qian’s got a look that keeps him safely hidden away behind his files and folders.

When Yunho turns up behind him a few moments later, ditched by Hyukjae-hyung for Donghae-hyung, Changmin looks up at him and smiles.

“Hey,” he says, grabbing Ayame’s file.

Yunho looks at it, smiles, and then circles a hand around Changmin’s wrist.

Changmin’s breath catches.

“Hi,” Yunho says. “Are you already hiding?”

Changmin manages to stay composed, fingers only twitching slightly for his lighter. He’ll find a way to slip a hand into his pocket when Yunho leaves and click the wheel; will relish in the fact that his pants aren’t on fire; this isn’t a dream. For now, he tries out a grin, tilting his head towards the girls. “Well, Qian’s terrifying, to be honest,” he says. “I don’t know how you do it.” He nods towards Ara specifically this time, who’s picked up a model of the apartment for level two and is explaining the elevator system to Qian and Henry.

Yunho hasn’t let go of Changmin’s wrist, and now his thumb worries the skin of Changmin’s pulse. “I still don’t remember telling you that,” he says quietly.

Changmin’s feeling disquieted because of more than just the touch of Yunho’s hand on his skin, now, but he does his best not to pull away and grab for his totem.

“About me and Ara.”

“You were drunk,” Changmin lies, heart pounding. “I was drunk. We were… It was late.” _We were stranded on a beach,_ he doesn’t say. _You were angry. I was stupid._

Yunho appears to accept that, thumb stroking across the veins of Changmin’s wrist.

“It’s not a big deal,” Changmin continues, because he can’t let it go. Because he’s still stupid. Still angry. Still halfway stranded on that beach. “It’s not like I’m going around gossiping about your past hook-ups, Yunho-hyung,” he adds.

Yunho snorts. “I should hope so,” he says.

Changmin flushes, hates himself for his inability to let it go.

“And Qian and I didn’t date,” he says, not meeting Yunho’s eyes. “We just. Slept together. One time.” His ears feel hot and he can feel his hands start to shake with the urge to go for his totem, but he keeps staring down at the table and the folder. “I don’t know why she told Ara that.”

Yunho’s fingers ghost down like he wants to hold hands, then pull away.

When Changmin looks up at him, he’s smiling. “Well, you are a catch, Changdol-ah,” he says quietly.

Changmin’s heart pounds.

Yunho smiles once more, then steps away, clearing his throat. He calls them all to order. “Right, so, Kyuhyun-ah,” he begins. “Do you have enough sedative for a full test?”

Kyuhyun nods, expression serious. “Yes, Hyung.”

Yunho nods. “Heerobbong!”

Siwon-hyung pokes his head out of the bathroom with an apologetic looking smile. “We’re doing his eyebrows,” he says, in explanation. He lifts his hands, fingers smeared brown with hair dye, and gives them a wiggle. “Hyung is an artist.”

“A perfectionist, more like,” Changmin mutters.

Qian laughs. “You’re one to talk,” she calls.

Changmin sets Ayame’s folder back down on the table in front of him so that no one can see the tremor in his hands. He ignores Qian.

“I have enough for the job itself,” Kyuhyun says, a good friend.

“Good,” Yunho says. “Lock the doors. We’re all going under.”

Changmin stands, shoves his shirtsleeves to his elbows, and ignores the brush of Yunho’s fingers against his as he passes.

The test run goes perfectly, all of them reaching level three without any hiccups, and throwing themselves off a building to wake up in the warehouse exactly as Kyuhyun intended.

Qian is the first to break the silence, glancing over to where Hyukjae-hyung’s entire team have gathered on what looks like a brand new couch with a freshly brunette Heechul-hyung and Siwon-hyung. “It’s good,” she says, looking first at Kyuhyun, then at Changmin. “I think it’ll work.”

Siwon-hyung smiles.

Yunho smirks. “I should hope so,” he says, standing before the rest of them and pulling the IV out of his arm. He grabs Changmin’s IV next, not-so-subtly taking the opportunity to really hold hands this time. “We’re brilliant.”

Kyuhyun and Ara stand as well, grabbing for the cotton swabs.

Yunho just keep holding Changmin’s hand.

No one in the room misses this.

Changmin doesn’t pull away. “Yeah,” he says, and lets out a breath, tries out his own smile.

The answering one on Yunho’s face is dazzling.

Changmin doesn’t even feel guilty, he’s such a monster.

“So.” Yunho stands, releasing Changmin’s hands so he can go over to talk with Hyukjae-hyung and Donghae-hyung. “We’ll need someone on the plane to watch us—administer the somnacin—besides Hyukjae.” He breaks off, eyeing Kyuhyun. “Sorry. What are you calling it?”

“Kyumacin,” Kyuhyun says immediately, and then yelps when Qian hits him. “Ow, _Victoria_!”

“Sorry not sorry, _Marcus_ ,” Qian says back, the picture of innocence.

“The Kyumacin,” Yunho says carefully, for some reason looking between _Changmin_ and Qian like he’s at all involved in their dumb English codenames. (Changmin’s codename is Maximum, but nobody is ever going to learn that, because if either Kyuhyun or Qian tattle, they’ll end up six feet under.) “Maybe Hyung?”

Heechul-hyung lifts his head.

“Do you want to be a flight attendant?”

“Why not Qian?” Heechul-hyung says, with a smirk that says he’s absolutely not serious

As one, Ara, Qian, and Amber glower at him.

“Right, yes, sexism.” Heechul-hyung grins, amused. “I’ve always loved dress up.”

Changmin rolls his eyes.

Heechul-hyung shoots Yunho another amused look. “Anyway, Yurobbong,” he says. “Tell me about this job you did with Keith in Scotland?”

Changmin opens his mouth, cheeks flushing.

“I heard you had a stowaway.”

Changmin crosses the floor so he can shove Kyuhyun, embarrassed. “Kyu!”

Kyuhyun raises both hands. “What? I’m sorry! I couldn’t help it! He was very convincing!”

“Keith’s an asshole,” Yunho explains, like it’s nothing. “Changminnie’s much better.”

Qian rests both elbows on the table and her chin in both hands. “Is he?” she says, tone knowing.

Changmin crosses to shove her as well.

Yunho is unbothered. “Yes,” he says. He makes like he’s going to come over and hold Changmin’s hand again, and this time Changmin has the self-awareness to think with more than just his heart.

He glares, blood roaring in his ears, and juts his chin out stubbornly. “I take it back,” he says. “I’m not okay with work relationships.”

Yunho’s eyes flare with unmasked hurt before he stops in his tracks, expression shuttering closed.

Changmin doesn’t spare him more than a glance, just glares between Heechul-hyung and Kyuhyun and Qian practically daring them to speak. “I’m very busy prepping for this job, so I’m going to get back to work,” he says.

And then he turns on his heel and doesn’t look back once.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks.

Minho’s easy, doesn’t even ask for more than a few hundred bucks, and agrees to fly with them to New York City in February.

“I’ve always wanted to go to New York,” he says, then pauses, clearly sensing something in Changmin’s voice. “Are you alright, Changmin-hyung?”

“Perfect,” Changmin lies.

 

* * *

 

New Year’s Eve, Heechul-hyung shows up to the warehouse with Siwon-hyung, stares down at Changmin and Yunho where they’re seated at their desks looking over their notes, and sighs. “You’re still here,” he says.

Changmin and Yunho look up, pausing, before Yunho turns his gaze back to the floorplans in front of him without more than a smile in Heechul-hyung’s general direction.

The older man takes in the fact that they’re sitting at completely different tables, the dark circles under Changmin’s eyes, and frowns.

 “So are you,” Changmin says finally, when it becomes clear no one else is going to say anything.

Heechul-hyung keeps frowning. “It’s New Year’s,” he says. “You’re spending New Year’s working.”

Yunho turns over a page. “They say whatever you’re doing at midnight on New Year’s is what you’ll be doing for the rest of the year,” he says. “I like working,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind working the rest of the year,” he says. He glances at Changmin, gaze perfectly composed, before licking a thumb and flipping another page. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

Changmin nearly gives himself a paper cut.

“Or anyone,” Yunho says.

Changmin very wisely sets down his own stack of paper, and debates standing.

Heechul-hyung looks between the two of them for a few more moments. “Right,” he says. “It’s eight p.m., Yurobbong.”

Yunho doesn’t miss a beat. “We have a lot of work to do,” he says.

 _Liar_ , Changmin thinks. All they have left to do is to wait for it to be the day before Valentine’s Day.

Yunho doesn’t even looking at him, just keeps turning pages.

Changmin thinks he’s not even reading them anymore.

Heechul-hyung walks to stand in front of Yunho, then takes the papers without a word. “Wrong,” he says. “We’re going out.”

He glances at Changmin, then over at Siwon-hyung, poking at the architecture models sitting on Ara’s empty desk. She’s in Seoul for New Year’s Eve, visiting family like normal people do, and Kyuhyun’s run out tracking down some rare wine like wannabe sommeliers do.

“Siwon-ah?”

Siwon-hyung puts both hands behind his back, whistling. “Hmm?”

“Watch Changdol, won’t you?”

Changmin bristles.

Siwon-hyung grins. “Sure.”

Heechul-hyung grabs Yunho by the hand. “Good,” he says. “We’ll be back before midnight,” he says, hauling the other man physically out of his seat and across the room towards the door.

“Wait, Hyung—” Yunho tries to protest, but to no avail.

“Wouldn’t want to you to spend the next year without Changminnie, of course,” Heechul-hyung continues, and has the audacity to wink.

“What? Hyung!” Yunho says again, as they go through the door and vanish into the Japanese night.

Changmin stares after them for a long moment, before getting to his feet and shuffling over to the lawn chair. He sits down without making eye contact, crossing his ankles and nestling his wrists in his lap. “Wake me when it’s midnight,” he tells Siwon-hyung, eyes already closed.

Siwon-hyung does, when Heechul-hyung comes loudly back in with a much less stuck-up and much more inebriated Yunho, who waves happily at Siwon-hyung without so much as a pause. They’re both slurring and laughing and Yunho’s cheeks are bright red.

“Siwon—Siwon—Siwon-ah,” Yunho says, happily.

Heechul-hyung just grins at them all. “Ma Siwon,” he says, exchanging a secret little smile with Yunho. The two of them break off into more giggles, and Changmin heaves a long drawn out sigh, feeling out the imprint of lawn chair on his left cheek.

“Changmin?” Siwon-hyung says, as he’s finished shaking Changmin awake like he said he would, even though Heechul-hyung and Yunho are so loud there’s no way Changmin could have slept through it if he wanted. “Who’s Seungchul?”

Changmin blinks, still not fully awake. “What?”

“Lee Seungchul?” Yunho says, heedless of the sudden rush of air out of Changmin’s mouth, the sudden chill to Changmin’s skin. “Hyuk’s son?” he adds. “Son-in-law-ssi?” He grins, clearly pleased, before he starts to tip to one side. “He’s my favorite,” he says. “Worthy—” He falls, catches himself on the table with one wrist, then laughs at himself.

Heechul-hyung grabs him, stumbling as well, and the two of them go fumbling against the table giggling.

Siwon-hyung leaves Changmin and heads over to help the two of them into chairs, bemused. “How much did you two drink?” he says as he does so.

“Tons,” Heechul-hyung says as he settles into his seat. He throws a surprisingly sober glare towards Changmin. “Yurobbong had quite a lot of su—su-stress,” he manages, still glaring.

Changmin feels about ten centimeters high.

Yunho just grins, content as you like. “It’s okay, Changminnie,” he says happily. “I forgive you.”

Changmin’s breath catches in his chest. “Yunho-hyung,” he manages.

Yunho keeps smiling at him, curling contently into the chair. “Love you,” he says, before his eyes close.

Siwon-hyung’s phone dings. “Midnight,” he says quietly, in case Changmin forgot setting the alarm.

Heechul-hyung’s gone silent in his own chair, watching Yunho sleep. “Of course, you’d spend midnight telling him you love him,” he mutters. He turns towards Changmin, eyes suddenly sharp and sober. “You don’t deserve him, Shim Chwang-ah,” he says.

Changmin sucks in another messy lungful of air. “With all due respect, Heechul-hyung,” he says evenly. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

And then he rolls over and shuts his eyes, heedless of Heechul-hyung’s squawking, and ignores the entire room until the next day, when he wakes before sunrise, and leaves his jacket draped over Yunho’s shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Share this fic: [Tumblr](https://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/185391613090/homin-fic-its-alright-even-if-you-hate-me) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/1142743860587696129).


	5. The Job: Level One | February 2019

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you'll notice that this has a final chapter count now. It's longer than I wanted it to be but many ppl told me I needed to split my 15,000 word chapter into two so... oops. This does mean the fic is complete up to the final chapter... which I'm excited about! It's really coming together and I can't wait to share it with you all.

It’s almost too easy, getting to Kaito. Changmin gets him off the private plane manifest with a few well-placed keystrokes, has the company (Siwon-hyung’s company) refuse to fly him without being on the official passenger list with a few well-deserved bills, and then Siwon-hyung does the rest.

He laughs, appeases his soon-to-be in-laws with good humor, and says he’d be happy to take another flight with Kaito-san.

Kaito smiles right back, dimpling down at his unimpressed mother and agreeing. “Ka-san,” he says. “It’s okay. It’ll give Siwon-san and me time to get to know each other more.”

Changmin makes a pained, horrified sound where he and the rest of the team are gathered around listening through Siwon-hyung’s commlink. 

“Good thinking,” Siwon-hyung agrees in perfect Japanese, tone polite.

“Oh, Ayame’s upset,” Heechul-hyung ascertains. He thumps Hyukjae-hyung on the back. “Good job amping up the guilt.” 

“We’re heading back into the terminal,” Siwon-hyung mutters, before raising his voice to call for his assistant. “Sooyeon-ah!”

Changmin winces again, mostly because everyone knows pointmen and personal assistants are cut from the same cloth, and the Choi family’s Im Sooyeon is in a word, terrifying. 

He pulls away from the commlink, pleased. “Okay,” he says, eyeing Hyukjae-hyung and Heechul-hyung, dressed to impress as flight attendants. “Um.” They’re not really going to make him give the inspiring speech, are they? Changmin is not inspiring. 

As if he’s been summoned, Yunho clears his throat, head facing forward and expression fierce. He moves like he wants them all to put their fucking hands in the middle for a cheer, and Changmin makes the executive decision to put a stop to that ASAP. 

“Right, good, yes,” he says, taking advantage of how everyone is still looking at him. He puts his hand into the center and hovers it over Yunho’s for two seconds, says, “woo—fighting!” and then moves on. “We should all split up and blend.”

The first class lounge is empty, thankfully, since the team bought out the entire cabin (there were only enough seats for four of them, as planned anyway), but any minute now Kaito and Siwon-hyung could arrive, and it’ll be time.

Hyukjae-hyung, Kyuhyun, and Heechul-hyung vanish off to be flight attendants, but Qian will only be playing Ayame, so she takes the center of the room and starts talking loudly in Chinese. 

Yunho’s playing the central role on level three, but he’s too much of a perfectionist to leave, and Changmin can’t leave Yunho, never mind they’re still sort of walking on eggshells. Also he’ll never pass up the opportunity to observe the mark. Especially Kaito, who’s ended up secondary to Isamu and Ayame by virtue of the plan. 

Changmin camps out by himself at a table that affords him the best view of the lounge and also Yunho, which he pretends not to notice and is totally not on purpose. He pulls out his iPad the picture of a wealthy businessman. 

Kaito and Siwon-hyung slip in unannounced, shyly smiling at each other and looking very much like the newlyweds they’re trying to be. If it weren’t for the tension in Siwon-hyung’s shoulders or the brittleness of Kaito’s smile, Changmin might start believing they weren’t merely arranged to be married. As it stands, he’s glad they don’t have long until they’re due to board—only twenty minutes of Changmin doing a crossword, some sudoku, and finally, some nonsensical time calculations hammering out the details of the job. Ninety-six hours on the first level; ninety-six hours on the second; twenty-four on the third; two-ish days on the first level; wake; payday; gone. 

Heechul-hyung scans Changmin’s boarding pass before they board, ascot knotted around his neck like some sort of nineties character, and smirks. “Smile, Changdol,” he whispers, the risk taker, and Changmin doesn’t even bother to respond or react.

He follows Yunho onto the plane without pause, placing himself between him and Kaito almost before thinking. Behind him he can hear Ara talking loudly in English, and Qian finishing up a final Chinese phone call. Ahead of him, he can see Kyuhyun just within the plane doors smiling widely in greeting.

“Welcome,” Kyuhyun says in Japanese, when Yunho and Changmin reach him, suitcases sliding along silently at their sides. “Welcome,” he adds in Korean, still smiling.

Changmin dips his head, eyes on his boarding pass like he has no idea where he’s going to be sitting. He, Yunho, and Qian have an entire column, Ara, Kaito and Siwon-hyung the next, with Yunho in the center seat opposite Kaito. They’ve planned everything out down to the PASIV in Changmin’s suitcase, but it can never hurt to play his part.

Behind him, Changmin hears Kaito greet Kyuhyun, and then Siwon-hyung making his way on board.

Changmin risks a look down at his watch, posture at ease. He lets Hyukjae-hyung handle his suitcase, calm as you like, and watches at the PASIV gets stored overhead for the journey to Seoul. 

Siwon-hyung and Kaito are discussing the novelty of a layover and flying with people who are not family, and Changmin tunes them out before the sound of wealth physically ages him.

They’re not due to start the job until they’ve been in the air en route to New York for at least two hours, but Changmin still gets nervous without the PASIV in arm’s reach. He gets nervous thinking about the job itself, frankly, and feels anxiety settle hot into his belly. He thinks about the plan, about Ara’s perfectly constructed Japanese high school, and swallows. What is the likelihood he’ll fuck it all up and come out as a girl or something? Or worse: a man in a school girl’s costume?

Changmin breathes. 

It’s fine.

Thinks will be fine.

“Oops, I’m sorry.” Even though their seats aren’t touching at all, Yunho still manages to stand and stretch and bump into Changmin in a move that’s silent, unassuming, and yet somehow still relaxing the same.

Changmin smiles back politely, heart pounding, and stumbles totally purposefully closer.

Yunho circles Changmin’s wrist with one hand to steady him, then leaves his hand there for a few moments. He smiles, and it’s a kind, like Changmin is a stranger sort of smile, but his eyes are fond and his palm is warm and for two seconds, Changmin forgets the mess that was New Year’s and Crebeau and July and could kiss him, he’s so enamored. 

Instead he nods, both in answer to Yunho’s unspoken show of support, and because he’s a polite, foreign businessman named Choi Kanghee. 

Kaito and Siwon-hyung take the seats behind Ara; Qian sinks gracefully into the seat in front of Yunho; Kyuhyun comes over the intercom doing basic check-in type things, before someone thankfully drags him away from the microphone, leaving the flight attending to the actual flight attendants. Changmin would bet it’s Hyukjae-hyung looking out for the wellbeing of the flight, but it might be Heechul-hyung.

Either way, Changmin is thankful because Kyuhyun isn’t in charge of going over flight safety, and more relaxed because Yunho smiled at him. Because he’s become that person, apparently. Changmin thinks despairingly how weird it is that for all his friends’ bluster, none of them have seen him in a relationship for real. None of them have witnessed him as more than just a team unit; none of them have witnessed Changmin and Yunho. And… now Changmin’s not nervous, he’s just moping.

He frowns, folds that feeling into Choi Kanghee—the man’s a nervous flier, or something, maybe; Changmin’s not sure as the alias isn’t one of his favorite options, but it’s one of the only ones leftover after Crebeau ended with most of them burned. 

Changmin buckles his seatbelt with a sigh, pops in a piece of gum, stows his laptop, and leans back in his seat.

Thirty minutes later they’ve reached altitude and are pointing towards Seoul.

Changmin listens to Siwon-hyung and Kaito speaking in quiet Japanese, still joking about connecting flights and slumming it with the common folk, and returns to his time dilations. 

Ninety-six hours on the first level; ninety-six hours on the second; twenty-four on the third; two-ish days on the first level; wake; payday; gone. 

It’s surprisingly easy getting into Seoul, and then back out of Seoul, but Changmin thinks that’s probably more to do with the fact that Siwon-hyung owns the airline than anything else.

Kaito seems utterly unbothered by the entire situation, sitting through the deplaning and then replaning without much comment, and once they’re back in the air and pointed out over the Pacific Ocean, the man yawns.

Two hours into their fourteen flight later, Kaito’s practically asleep in his seat, and it’s almost too easy for Kyuhyun to pass him water laced with a mild sedative. 

“Shut up,” Changmin addresses his best friend immediately, unbuckling and standing to grab the PASIV. 

“I didn’t say anything.” Kyuhyun raises both hands in a show of innocence.

“You were going to start talking about Kyumacin.” Changmin eyes the cabin set-up up and down. “I see why we needed to rob that pharmacy,” he says, thinking about the horrors Kyuhyun had him do to the PASIV’s internal wiring and IV drips. 

“I’ll take that,” Hyukjae-hyung says happily, wheeling out an empty food cart and settling it into the center of the row, to the side so someone can still pass. “Plane safety,” he says, when Changmin stares. “It’s a fire hazard.”

“We’re about to commit mind robbery,” Changmin says, before he can stop himself.

Yunho clears his throat. 

“How long, Hyung?” Hyukjae-hyung says, turning to face him.

“Eight hours,” Yunho replies, fingers closed around his totem like it’ll actually tell him the time. 

Hyukjae-hyung nods, opening the PASIV. 

Siwon-hyung has stood to stretch, and he’s joined now by Heechul-hyung, sliding behind Hyukjae-hyung with a curious expression on his face.

“Where are they going to sit?” Changmin realizes, thinking about Heechul-hyung and Kyuhyun, and wonder if Ara and Qian might kill them for having to share a seat.

“It’s fine,” Qian says, like reading Changmin’s mind. “He’s already tried to sleep with me. He knows better.”

Kyuhyun shudders but doesn’t look up from where he’s been fiddling with the Kyumacin next to Hyukjae-hyung. “Now remember, we’re going to set up a musical kick at the hundred hour mark, but we won’t be able to wake up until the sedative clears our systems in the full eight hours,” he tells Hyukjae-hyung mostly, but addressing everyone else.

“I still think the song choice sucks,” Heechul-hyung says, before turning back to Siwon-hyung.

“Siwon-ah?”

“He’s nice,” Siwon-hyung says, gesturing down at Kaito. “Funny.”

“What’s wrong with Twice?” Yunho mutters.

“I don’t think it’d be so bad, if we failed,” Siwon-hyung continues, ignoring him.

Kaito is now audibly snoring, courtesy of Cho Kyuhyun.

Changmin is struck rather suddenly with the memory of the time Minho and Kyuhyun left out laced wine, and it took two very much not pulled slaps to Changmin’s cheeks to wake him.

“He’s also desperately pining his for his ex,” Yunho tells Siwon-hyung pointedly, still staring down at his grandfather’s watch. “And not marrying you because he wants to.” He puts the watch away, seemingly satisfied with it’s backwards tick.

Changmin fingers the lighter in his pants pocket, quiet.

“Harsh,” Siwon-hyung mumbles, but shrugs out of his suit jacket anyway.

They all roll up their sleeves and settle into their seats, Ara and Heechul-hyung set up in one, Qian and Kyuhyun set up in another, and Yunho, Changmin, and Siwon-hyung where they’d began the flight. 

“Hyukjae-ah,” Heechul-hyung says. “Flight Attendant-nim.”

Hyukjae-hyung hands Changmin a cannula, eyes rolling. “Yes, Customer-nim?”

“Help me make up my bed,” Heechul-hyung says.

When Ara raises her brows, he smiles. 

“We’ll be under for eight hours,” he says. “My back will murder me if we’re not horizontal.”

Ara concedes that point, shaking her head.

Hyukjae-hyung shakes his head as well, but puts the thing together without further complaint.

Changmin blinks.

“What?” Hyukjae-hyung seems embarrassed. “I didn’t want to seem suspiciously bad at my job.”

Heechul-hyung kicks off his dress shoes. “So you learned how to be a flight attendant?” he says, taking his own line from Yunho, who’s closest to the device. 

“I like to be thorough,” Hyukjae-hyung says, nose raised in the air. He hands out IVs without speaking, before heading to prep Kaito. 

Changmin snorts, understanding the sentiment, and threads the needle under his skin into the vein. He hisses at the sting and leans his seat as far back as it’ll go without being a makeshift mattress. 

He stares at the plane ceiling, then at the top of Yunho’s perfect head, and listens to Yunho count them down to dreaming in his perfect, calm voice.

He dreams.

 

* * *

 

Changmin wakes mid-step down the streets of what he knows is rural Osaka, dressed again in a suit, with a work satchel over his shoulder, and a phone in his hand. The suit’s itchy and off the rack and not at all his size, but it’s Kyuhyun’s dream, and Kyuhyun’s made it his mission to dress Changmin in all manner of tragic clothing whenever it’s his dream, so Changmin’s mostly just glad he’s actually wearing men’s clothing this time. That being said, the thing is frighteningly garish—black, mostly, but patterned all over with flowers. Still, Changmin supposes he ought to be glad he’s not dressed as a French maid.

He sighs, glancing down at his Nokia 3310 (fuck Kyuhyun, honestly), and shifts the weave of the dream until the suit fits, at least. He’ll have to change it completely eventually, but already Changmin can tell he’s going to need Kyuhyun’s express permission to do so; the change in size required much more concentration than it should, which was absolutely Kyuhyun’s work. His friend can’t keep Changmin in patterns forever, however, since there’s no way a floral suit is in fashion for a high school reunion.

But Changmin will save that for when he’s not by himself with only Kaito’s projections to keep him company.

Two school children race by Changmin laughing, and Changmin nearly jumps out of his skin. He doesn’t curse, only steps a little too jerkily to the side, but his fingers are already twisting the wedding ring around his finger nervously. 

And… that sobers him up, knots tightening in his stomach for more than just job anxiety. It’s stupid and risky and pointless, but Changmin _can’t_ help himself. The last time he used anything as good as Kyuhyun’s eponymously named Kyumacin was Crebeau, and the sharp, piercing clarity of the dream has Changmin’s skin itching to at least try to take the ring off.

Sometimes, on the rare occasions he convinces himself that taking a few hours out of his night to dream isn’t selfish (when he’s nowhere near Kyuhyun or Sungmin-hyung or anyone who might mix him something strong enough to go deeper), Changmin manages to get the thing off for _minutes._

He has no such luck, this time.

The ring stays stubbornly wrapped around Changmin’s fingers, although it does flash through a few sizes mockingly. It’s enough so that when Changmin twists it down to the tip of his finger he can see the glint of the inscription on the center band. The gouged-in lines of the troughs and crests of the wave peek back at Changmin, who scowls, cheeks hot, and slides the thing right back up to rest under the bump of his knuckles. 

He dreams himself his usual additions, still scowling, and then smooths his expression into perfectly polite disinterest when he notices the children staring at him with far too knowing eyes.

Fuck.

He glances at his watch. They’ve barely been under for five minutes of dream time, and already Changmin’s fucking things up.

He breathes, clicking away at the game of snake Kyuhyun’s dreamed up for him on his ancient phone, and starts to make his way towards the train station.

The children turn back to their conversation, and Changmin goes on his way.

Transportation hubs make for good meeting places, whether it be in or out of dreams. They require careful planning both ways, but in dreams, it’s never good practice to be so close to so many potentially dangerous projections. It’s also never good for the dreamer to be too focused on the details, so on a dream this scale, which includes an impressive amount of Osaka set against the backdrop of Kaito’s high school reunion, often times the details get lost.

Changmin eyes a strip of posters taped up against an electrical pole, and notes nothing is written there. He watches a single car pass by without a proper license plate, and only knows he’s heading in the right direction because he’s… been here before.

Changmin frowns, confused.

That’s Sumiyoshi Shrine in the distance, beyond the subway stop. Changmin weaves through the public gardens and stares at the dried-up water fountain and blinks, even more at a loss. The plan was for them to meet closer to center of Osaka, at a larger, busier station, so that Heechul-hyung could successfully get off work to go collect Kaito, and Changmin and the rest of them could split into groups to go sightseeing or prep for Friday night’s job. 

Yes, Changmin likes to show up by himself in dreams, but never this far from the others.

Never in places he’s been before.

Changmin shoves his hand into his pocket with his phone and rubs over his grandmother’s lighter anxiously. He’d light himself a cigarette with it, but the ring on his finger means it’ll actually light _purple_ , and that might attract unwanted attention.

It’s better that Changmin reach the subway station and regroup from there. 

Everyone else ought to be in one place, and Changmin should hopefully only be a few minutes away.

“Excuse me,” more children chorus, running past Changmin with toast—actual honest to God _toast—_ in between their teeth, and Changmin moves to the side again with his mouth open, brows raised.

It’s not morning—they’ve come in at three p.m. on the dot to leave them enough time to lie on Saturday before they move levels—but Kyuhyun is… _Kyuhyun_ , so of course children are running around Osaka carrying toast in their mouths. Everything’s an anime in Kyuhyun’s dreams. Why is Changmin even surprised. 

It’s not that hard to reach the station, a fact which Changmin attributes to this being a dream. Still, he nods past the food stands and window dressing and finds a pay machine and a map, eager to get out of here and find the rest of his team, and then stops.

“Well… fuck,” Changmin says in Korean, more to himself than anything. He looks up at the map of the subway, helpfully labeled in illegible Japanese, and comes to the horrifying conclusion that Cho Kyuhyun isn’t just the kind of asshole who dreams his best friends into garish, floral suits—he’s probably never seen a subway map in his life. Or actually _just can’t read_ , Changmin would go so far to say, because even though they’d met in college and bonded over illegally hacking the Korean government and later their shared love of classified chemical technology, the subway map on the wall is in fact a maze in the shape of a turtle. “I’ll kill him,” Changmin says quietly. “I’ll destroy his reputation. He’ll never work again. Sungmin-hyung’s much cheaper.”

As Changmin squints up at the thing desperately, a pair of Kaito’s projections walk up beside him holding hands. They talk quietly amongst themselves, and Changmin takes advantage of his inaction to listen in. It’s worth it to get a read on Kaito’s subconscious, especially this far away from where Kaito himself is. 

They’re attending the woman’s cousin’s wedding, and they’re nervous.

Changmin feels his lips twitch into a smile.

After a few more moments of negotiation, the couple steps forward to pay for their tickets, entering their stop information and inserting the correct amount of yen.

Changmin tries not to look over their shoulder too obviously, but the language remains unhelpfully illegible and the stop information remains tragically reptilian. 

The couple moves on, entirely unbothered.

Kyuhyun’s turtle maze reveals no secrets.

“Fuck my life,” Changmin mutters. 

Finally, once Changmin’s successfully run through all the disastrous ways the job can go wrong on levels two and three without him, Changmin’s phone starts ringing. Or not Changmin’s phone. The ancient Nokia Changmin came to holding starts ringing.

For a few seconds, Changmin is too shocked by the turn of events to react, but then he scrambles to get it out of his pocket, ears burning.

The few projections scattered among the mostly deserted platform eye him curiously, but Changmin can’t fight the urge to disappear into the background. The flowers on his suit go black and white. Changmin winces when the couple from before takes a few involuntary steps towards him, features going frightening.

“Dear,” the woman says before her husband can knife Changmin, and Changmin breathes a sigh of relief as the man turns away.

He tugs the phone out of his pocket to answer, heart pounding. “Hello?” Changmin’s too shocked for Japanese, but it turns out not to matter.

“Changmin?” Yunho’s voice says, high and questioning.

Changmin pulls the phone away from his ear to look at the call screen, but all it displays is the information that ‘`Darling`’ is calling him, written helpfully in Korean and not Japanese.

“—min,” Yunho is saying when Changmin puts the phone back to his ear. “Um. This is Changmin, right?”

Changmin swallows. “Yunho-hyung,” he finally manages.

There’s silence from the other end, and then hysterical sounding laughter that can only be Heechul-hyung. The man says, in between braying, broken chuckles, “Kyuhyun-ah! Did you put Changmin’s number in Yurobbong’s phone as ‘Jagiya’? Genius!” and then keeps laughing, practically cackling.

Changmin winces, flushing even as he can hear Kyuhyun protesting, and Yunho trying to interject.

“Hyung—”

“No—”

“I—”

“Changmin—”

“I don’t know where I am,” Changmin says, deciding to ignore the rest of them in favor of Yunho. “I mean, I know I’m in Osaka—I’m right by Sumiyoshi Shrine, actually—” And suddenly he remembers when he’s been here before, and with whom. Once in reality, the first time they went to Japan to work jobs. Second, in a dream, when it didn’t matter how closely they borrowed from the real world because they had all the time in the world. His fingers clench and unclench around the phone in his hands, the new rings around his fingers biting into his skin like a reminder.

It’s no wonder Changmin ended up here.

“We’re all at the meeting point,” Yunho says, clearly grateful for Changmin’s professionalism, if not unaware of his casual breakdown. “All of us—”

“Yeah, how come you’re all alone, Changdol?” Heechul-hyung says loudly, before Changmin hears Qian tugging him away.

“Oppa. Are you drunk? What the fuck—”

“I’m blending,” Heechul-hyung says, but softer now.

There’s more silence, then Heechul-hyung speaks again, sounding guilty.

“Don’t look at me like that, Siwon-ah. You’re the one getting married.” He pauses for longer. “I’m fine. I’ve got this—”

“Don’t!” Yunho interrupts loudly, the raw panic in his voice making all of Changmin’s hair stand on end. “Don’t—do—that—Hyung.” Yunho’s words come out in stunted segments. “Kyuhyun.”

Changmin can imagine his best friend standing to attention just like the military taught them.  
“Yes, Hyung?”

“Please tell me he’s not having a reaction to the—” He breaks off, voice going low. “— _Kyumacin_.”

Kyuhyun’s clearly shaking his head. “No. I did extensive blood tests and worked with all sorts of alcohol combinations and everything.”

“I’m _fine_ , Yurobbong,” Heechul-hyung says happily, before the gravity of the situation must get through to him. “Yurobbong. Yunho-yah. _Yunho_.” Heechul-hyung sounds so serious. “I’m fine. I promise.”

Changmin wishes he could teleport in dreams, so he could see Yunho’s face; so that he might have Yunho’s back.

“You’re not the only one who’s nervous,” Heechul-hyung finishes, voice nearly inaudible over the phone.

Changmin swallows.

“Right, so,” Yunho says, only sounding mildly choked up. “Changmin.”

Changmin finds himself standing to military attention now, back ramrod straight and chin up. “Yes, Hyung.”

“How soon until you can reach the station?”

Changmin winces. “Well—”

“It’s the eye, Chwang-ah,” Kyuhyun says suddenly, like he’s come to stand next to Yunho and probably shouted in his ear.

“Kyuhyun,” Yunho says, tone pained, which confirms that theory.

“Sorry, Yunho-hyung,” says Kyuhyun at a lower volume. “Anyway, Shim Chwang-ah.”

Changmin fights the urge to roll his eyes. 

“You’ll want to go towards it’s eye,” Kyuhyun explains. “Maybe. I think. Two stops, or something?”

Changmin looks at the map and tilts his head. “Huh,” he says, considering Kyuhyun’s advice.

“Yeah,” Kyuhyun says. “Sorry. You know what they say, though.”

Changmin could kill him.

“You know how Seonsaengnim got.”

“Kyu—”

“‘Never dream too specifically, Kyuhyun-ah,’” Kyuhyun quotes despite the warning.

“Kyuhyun—”

“Like he came up with that himself,” Kyuhyun continues. “Like he wasn’t dying the moment he woke up in dreams—”

“Kyuhyun!” That’s Yunho this time, tone hard, and Kyuhyun very wisely shuts up.

Changmin agrees.

It’s bad luck to mention dreaming in dreams, especially on jobs. Kaito’s projections might not be listening, but who knows what they might internalize and pick up on. Kaito’s not militarized, since even Maeda Ayame drew the line at letting strangers into her son’s brain to help keep it safe, but they can never be too careful. 

It’s the first rule of dreamshare—never be complacent, never be too arrogant. 

Changmin remembers his first few weeks of dreamshare, of course. He knows what Kyuhyun is referencing—which seonsaengnim. He remembers the looks and the stares and the judgement, since he and Kyuhyun were only involved in some sort of badly concealed work study because why pay adults to mix dangerous chemicals and die in dreams, when you could blackmail two college aged idiots to do it instead. Especially when they’d noticed things your paid adults hadn’t.

Changmin licks his lips. “The train is coming,” he says quietly. “I’ll see you all soon.” And then he hangs up, presses a few perfunctory keys on the machine and plugs in enough yen to cover the price of admission.

Once he reaches everyone in more central Osaka, things move quickly. Heechul-hyung only teases Kyuhyun for the phone thing a little, before linking arms with Siwon-hyung and striding out before him. 

They’ve only lost two hours—no trouble for the plan—but the school reunion Yunho’s oh-so-kindly planned for them takes place on a Friday, and Kyuhyun has dreamed them soundly into Tuesday. It won’t affect Kaito, of course, since who remembers the mundane passage of time in dreams, but Heechul-hyung has to spend the entire ninety-six hours with Kaito inhabiting Isamu, since they’re not taking any liberties. The only level where Kaito is going to be alone is the final one. On every other, Heechul-hyung has a starring role. 

As if knowing Changmin’s thoughts, Heechul-hyung lets go of Siwon-hyung so he can check his watch. “Work is done,” he says, crossing behind a pillar as himself, and emerging as Isamu. “Got to go.”

He turns and makes his way over towards one of the trains, the route to his and Kaito’s apartment one of the things Ara spent weeks going over with him. It’ll be different on the second level, but this one is made truer to reality, and therefore the timing has to be perfect. Kyuhyun has helpfully planted the idea that this world’s Kaito and Isamu are still together around Kaito’s office with photographs, but Heechul-hyung has to be in place before Kaito’s subconscious can create a projection of him. Heechul-hyung also has the reunion invitation on him, and he’ll drop it—and the seeds of Friday—into Kaito’s lap when he arrives at the apartment. 

Changmin would normally dislike the amount of downtime, but given they’re doing something incredibly complicated. he supposes he can’t be too mad about it. The four days on the second level will probably be the worst, and Changmin won’t even have Kyuhyun for company. 

Changmin watches Heechul-hyung vanish into the crowd with baited-breath, falling into step beside Yunho. “You don’t think it’s odd that he doesn’t live in Tokyo?” he asks as they continue walking.

“No,” Yunho says. 

Ara and Qian have ended up by themselves, half in-step with Kyuhun, perfectly at ease and the picture of blending in. Kyuhyun’s on his phone, too-large headphones around his neck.

Changmin was too busy finding them to look at their appearances, but now that he does, he very easily can pick out who they’re supposed to be.

Ara, Qian, and Siwon-hyung are clearly school friends, complete with matching plaid skirts and thigh highs for Qian and Ara, and slacks and loafers for Siwon-hyung. Clearly Siwon-hyung’s their taller, stoic, aloof friend, complete with hands in his pockets and a perpetual windswept look to his hair that definitely means Kyuhyun actually believes Japan is an anime. 

Yunho and Changmin are in suits, though Yunho’s is a normal, dark blue color, compared to Changmin’s florals. Kyuhyun’s in a suit too, but he’s lost the jacket, draped around his waist in a careless, ‘I own a tech company’ sort of way. 

Clearly they’re not all together. 

“I like Osaka,” Yunho continues, keeping step with Changmin. “Don’t you?”

Changmin bites back the urge to comment about their time in Sumiyoshi Shrine, toes curling guiltily in his shoes. “I guess.” He breaks off, breath catching as sunlight glints off Yunho’s ring when the man rubs at an itch on his cheek. “Osaka’s—nice.”

There’s really no need for Changmin to do damage control, this time. Yunho’s cover as a run of the mill business man is probably only strengthened by the addition of a wife, but still, Changmin’s heart pounds.

He falls into step back with Kyuhyun, who doesn’t look up from his phone. “I didn’t do it,” Kyuhyun says anyway, in a quiet voice.

Changmin doesn’t look at him, just shifts the bag on his shoulder.

“You know me,” Kyuhyun says. “I never put too much thought into my dreams.” Case in point, they pass a video advertisement for green tea boba, and the actress in the ad just keeps repeating the words ‘green tea boba’ over and over. “I don’t know how Hyung got your number.”

Changmin blinks. “Oh,” he says, rubbing at the corner of his mouth. “That.”

Kyuhyun finally looks at him rather sharply, expression tense. “Chwang.” 

“It’s fine; don’t worry about it,” Changmin tells him, glancing to his left to make sure he hasn’t lost sight of Yunho, or Siwon-hyung and the girls. 

“I wasn’t.” Kyuhyun most definitely was. “But, Chwang.” 

“It’s fine, Kyuhyun-ah,” Changmin says, then lengthens his stride so that he can match pace with Yunho.

Yunho smiles at him, utterly at ease. The ring on his finger winks in the sun again, almost as if to mock Changmin.

Changmin can hear Kyuhyun catching up with him, but he ignores him.

Ara and Qian veer off course to stop at a street shop, Siwon-hyung stopping with them. Changmin doesn’t so much as blink. As long as everyone ends up in Kaito’s high school reunion on Friday night and then at his apartment Saturday afternoon to go down to the second level, Changmin doesn’t care what they do until then. Sure, he and Yunho are going to spend the next three days holed up in their own apartment going over the ins and outs of the next two levels, but he and Yunho are perfectionists. If Ara, Qian, and Siwon-hyung want to be tourists in Kyuhyun’s idea of Osaka, that’s fine by Changmin.

“No way,” Kyuhyun says suddenly.

Changmin can’t help but look at him.

His friend has his eyes fixed on Yunho’s left hand.

Shit.

Changmin walks even faster, passing Yunho and then slows when Kyuhyun keeps pace, unperturbed. “Kyu,” he hisses out of the side of his mouth, cheeks on fire. “Let it go!”

Kyuhyun just keeps walking, cool as you like. “Nice suit, Chwang-ah,” he says evenly, as they reach the correct platform and fall into line to wait for their train.

Changmin would bet Kyuhyun will not be getting off at the same stop as Yunho and Changmin, and honestly, he’s glad. “Shut up. It’s your fault,” snaps Changmin, flushing. 

Yunho moves out of the way of an older man and his daughter, standing so close to Changmin suddenly that Changmin can feel the heat coming off him, but not touching because they’re not blatantly more than perhaps coworkers. “I like it,” he says, as the train conveniently pulls in and starts to slow to a halt in front of them, a door ending up on either side of them.

Changmin sighs but drags Yunho to the right with his left hand, anyway, trying not to notice when the cold metal of his rings makes Yunho wince. They go body temperature immediately, and only the odd glances of the projections getting onto the train beside them is an indication that that’s Changmin’s doing and not just Yunho’s incredibly warm hands.  

“Flowers suit you,” Yunho continues quietly, and gives Changmin’s hand a tiny squeeze.

They hold hands the whole way to their apartment, but Changmin thinks that’s just because of how packed the train is at half-past five. And because clearly Kyuhyun’s taken pity on him, and Changmin’s suit has gone neutral black, and Yunho just wants to keep hold of Changmin so that he doesn’t lose him in the crowd. Never mind that they both tower over most of the train, eyes stuck rather helplessly shifting between the scenery flashing by and each other.

 

* * *

 

Wednesday and Thursday pass soon enough, no doubt worse for Heechul-hyung, who is actually working, and come Friday night, they’re all on their way to the high school reunion.

Qian’s already done up as a young Ayame, complete with an iconic pearl necklace that Changmin’s seen in more recent photos of her. Ara doesn’t need to change, but she’s fit her clothes to match Qian’s. She’s playing the non-descript role of her best friend. Kaito’s subconscious obviously doesn’t care, nor notice—not twenty minutes into the event, Changmin swears he walked past three Japanese voice actors and also possibly several AKB48 members.

Changmin thinks that’s the beauty of a high school reunion. Very few people know everyone, and absolutely no one is going to admit to that.

Yunho’s in the corner wearing Honda Naoki, dressed in a suit that is notably shabbier than most of their fellow classmates, and smiling. He looks green around the edges, which works for the events to follow, but also, makes Changmin anxious.

It’s almost too easy for Changmin to make his way over to him, weaving around projections with a fake smile and a glass of wine in one hand. “Smile,” he says, once he reaches Yunho. 

Ara and Qian have ended up surrounded by projections over by the punch bowl, while Heechul-hyung and Kaito talk quietly across the room. Siwon-hyung’s playing janitor for the night, as he can’t be himself until the final level, and Kaito would definitely think it odd to be dreaming about his fiancé at his fifteenth high school reunion. 

“I’m supposed to be nervous,” Yunho says to Changmin, still looking green around the gills.

Changmin lets the tension out of his shoulders and turns to face him fully. Their cover is best friends as well. “You’re supposed to be nervous because you’re going to propose to your best friend,” he says, trying not to sound like the words are ash in his mouth. “Not looking two steps from hurling all over yourself.” He gives Yunho a once over. “And what’s with the glasses? Naoki-san doesn’t wear glasses.” 

Yunho glares at him from behind his glasses, which rather helpfully do an anime glint—Changmin wants to strangle Kyuhyun. “How would you know what I look like when I’m about to propose to my best friend?” he snaps, cheeks a hint pink. “And shut up. I think they add to my character.”

It does, though mostly Changmin is mad that Yunho is inhabiting a whole other body instead of his own. Also, he totally knows what Yunho looks like when he’s about to propose to his best friend, and it’s not this. Yunho about to propose to his best friend was sweet and shy and giddy and kept dreaming up Park fucking Jinyoung to piss Changmin off. 

Yunho as Naoki just looks grim faced and sort of like he already knows about his looming death.

Which he does, since he’s Yunho, but…

Changmin sighs. “How long do you think we have to keep this up?” he says, watching Siwon-hyung sweet up the shards of glass left over from a particularly aggressive toast between Kyuhyun and who Changmin would bet money was a younger Furukawa Toshio. 

“Dunno,” Yunho says, eyes fixed on Qian for effect, but definitely also aware of Heechul-hyung and Kaito’s journey around the room. “How many do you think they’ve said hi to?”

“All of them,” says Changmin, smirking as Kyuhyun and his friend break out of a headlock style hug—it’s definitely Furukawa Toshio; who knew Kaito was a _One Piece_ fan?

Heechul-hyung switches his glass to his other hand, fingers curling briefly around his wrist in signal, and Changmin stops lazing about instantly. He drags Yunho in close, trying his best to be a consoling, encouraging best friend.

Kaito’s talking with a young woman, expression pleasant, but his gaze is definitely at the door. The woman is AKB48’s Jurina, give or take a few years, so that’s probably saying something. 

Changmin claps Yunho on the arm. “Naoki-kun,” he says, not loudly, but with purpose. “You got this.”

Yunho nods, swallowing, but pulls out the velvet box anyway. He click is open to reveal the ring, which Changmin is pleased to see looks exactly like the photos Hyukjae-hyung brought them, down to the rust stains and dust. Kaito probably won’t see it, but this is a dream, and it never hurts to be prepared, or metaphorical. 

“You got this,” Changmin says again, and pushes Yunho off towards Qian.

Afterwards it’s mostly Changmin playing dutiful best friend, racing after Yunho into one of the courtyards when he runs tearfully from the room, and glowering at Qian and Ara as they all laugh at his friend. 

There’s no time to look at Kaito, only time for Changmin to shout, “Naoki-kun!” loud enough for hopefully Kaito to hear, before Changmin is off towards the glade of trees where Yunho’s ended up.

His shoulders are hunched and shaking and his hands are balled into fists.

Changmin slows to stand behind him, confused. “Yunho-hyung.”

Yunho swings to meet him with tearful, frightening eyes, but somehow manages to compose himself enough to say, “Sorry. Bleed. It’s why I don’t do this a lot,” as the forge fades away and he stands before Changmin as himself. He waves a hand around in the air a few times, first to gesture the entire process of forgery, and then probably so that Changmin can’t tell his hands are shaking. They’ll have to go back in eventually, or at least get close enough so that Siwon-hyung can let them know when Heechul-hyung and Kaito leave, but for now, all of Changmin’s attention is focused on Yunho’s tears.

Yunho sniffs audibly a few times, before swiping angrily at the corners of his eyes. “God,” he swears. “Naoki is a fucking crier.” 

Changmin risks a smile. “Are you sure he’s just not you?” he asks. “Normal people cry more than twice a year, Yunho-hyung.” 

Yunho punches him in the arm. “Dick,” he says, but he’s laughing instead of crying now. “Normal people cry when the love of their life turns down their marriage proposal and then laughs at them with all their rich friends.” 

Changmin sobers a little, thinking about the real Honda Naoki once again. “Fair,” he says. “You’re still not the best judge of the normal amount of crying.” 

Yunho punches him again, then keeps his hand touching Changmin’s arm with a long sigh. “Yeah,” he says quietly. 

“You’re like a robot,” Changmin says quietly, but he doesn’t mean it. He’s too stuck on the ring on Yunho’s finger, mocking him in its perfection, and back from wherever it vanished when Yunho was inhabiting someone else’s body. 

Changmin kept his that morning since it added to his cover for the job, and he’s too tired to do anything about it but look, and hope to hell Yunho doesn’t notice. 

Yunho gives Changmin’s bicep a squeeze. “We should go in.”

Changmin drags his gaze to meet Yunho’s eyes. “Yeah.” 

In the room, Kaito and Heechul-hyung are collecting their coats and saying goodbye and Ara and Qian are in the process of ditching their crowd to go grab drinks at the punch bowl. 

Changmin and Yunho ease in beside them, Changmin leaning in to whisper to Qian in a way he hopes looks menacing and like he’s an angry best friend. 

“We’ll meet you at the apartment in an hour,” he says. They’re not going down a level until the next afternoon but splitting up is pointless at this point. 

Qian looks back at him with a hard expression, but nods. Then she winks, and Changmin has to duck his head to hide his smile. 

“They’ve left,” Yunho tells them both, watching the door seriously. “How long is it to the station?” 

“Ten minutes,” Ara says promptly. “But Heechul-oppa built in a shortcut so we can get there before they do, put you in position.”

Qian smiles at her, pleased.

Changmin would really rather be anywhere but here. 

“Should we grab the others?” he asks Yunho, eyeing Kyuhyun’s hilarious attempts to flirt with AKB48, and Siwon-hyung’s careful attention to sweeping up non-existent dirt. 

“Yes,” Yunho says, not glancing at him. He’s all business as he makes his way towards one of the doors further into the school, Changmin following him immediately. “Remember—go in pairs.” 

“Yeah, we know,” Qian tells him, winking, before heading towards the coat room to retrieve her coat. Ara follows with her, keeping their cover perfectly. 

Changmin catches Siwon-hyung’s and Kyuhyun’s eye as he walks with Yunho, ducking through the door like they belong. No one notices them leave, and certainly no one notices them cross into an empty classroom and pop out a block from the subway station, but still Changmin can’t breathe until they’re standing once again between tracks waiting for Qian and Ara. They show up moments later, heels clicking politely on the ground beside them. 

Moments after _that_ , Changmin catches sight of Heechul-hyung and Kaito coming down the stairs to stand next to them, Kaito’s head thrown back in amusement, and Heechul-hyung having the audacity to hold his hand. They let go once they’ve settled over a worn patch of concrete, but it’s easy and not at all choreographed. 

Changmin knows it’s just an act, but Heechul-hyung spent months trailing Isamu, and the hearts in Kaito’s eyes are real enough to take Changmin’s breath away. 

He doesn’t realize he’s white knuckling the air until Yunho puts a hand on his, gaze worried. “Changdol?” 

Changmin has to fight the urge to pull away from him. “Hyung.” 

Yunho’s expression doesn’t waver, but he does let go of Changmin’s hand. He lingers on Changmin’s knuckles, brow furrowing when he notices the ring, but Qian distracts him by throwing her shoulders back and going from calm and collected to soft and innocent in what feels like two seconds flat. 

“One hour,” she breathes, and then stumbles her way into Kaito’s view, hanging happily off Ara’s arm. 

Ara does her part perfectly, shoving her friend away gently but with an eye roll. Then Kaito and Qian are making awkward eye-contact, Kaito’s automatically polite smile going stale as he places Qian. 

Very quickly Changmin turns away so that he’s not noticeable, pressed in so close to Yunho it ought to be uncomfortable, but of course it’s not—it’s fine. 

He checks for the ETA on the train and is glad to see it’ll be arriving in two minutes; Qian is a professional, after all. 

When the goes to turn back towards Kaito and Qian, Yunho stops him with a hand on his chin, so quick they nobody else probably notices, but so hot Changmin’s knees clack together audibly. 

“What—” The word forms before he can help himself. 

“Shh,” Yunho says quietly, no doubt watching their mark and their forgers. “He’s looking.” 

Changmin keeps staring at the mole to the side of Yunho mouth, heart going rapidly behind his breastbone. He really can’t help it, but his thoughts turn to the band of gold around his finger; to the matching one circling Yunho’s; to the physical representation of the pound in their chests. He feels rather suddenly like he’s gone and got the hiccups, instead of simply been touched by his friend. 

By his partner. 

By his—extractor. 

“Kay,” Yunho breathes out easily. “You can look now.” 

Changmin rather pointedly keeps his gaze on Yunho’s face. 

“I promise, Changminnie, it’s safe,” Yunho says. 

Changmin wants to throw himself down in front of the tracks, even though that wouldn’t help anyone. 

He turns to look towards Qian and Kaito. 

They’re both standing still as you like waiting for the train—Changmin can hear it coming now, if not see the flash of the lights—but Kaito can’t seem to take his off of her, lines furrowed deep into his brow.

Heechul-hyung puts a hand on the small of his back and the man looks at him with a radiant smile, but doesn’t stop his scrutiny. As the train reaches the end of the tunnel to the left of them, Qian executes the most perfect trip, her heel almost snapping in a non-existent crack in the pavement. 

“Oh,” she says, catching herself. 

Kaito steps forward as if he’d steady her, but seems to think better of it, seems to realize where they are, and who they are, and lowers his hand. 

“Excuse me,” Qian says politely in Japanese, noticing him. 

Kaito nods back at her, the tiny bow equally polite. 

“You were at the reunion,” Qian continues, after a small pause. 

Kaito nods, and then smiles like he can’t help himself, clearly glad to have finally placed her. “Yes,” he says. “You were the one who...” He breaks off, embarrassed, and rubs at the back of his neck with one hand.

“Was proposed to, yes,” days Qian, which is flippant and a little risky, but worth it because the train is finally here, and her words get swallowed up by the screech of it coming to a stop. 

Qian ducks her head again politely, before stepping forward towards the opening doors. She twists as she goes, fake falling once more, still smiling and bowing and looking perfectly composed. 

“Wait.” Kaito steps forward with brow furrowed, reaching out like he’d touch Qian if culture dictated it. “What’s your name? I don’t think we know each other. I’m Maeda Kaito.”

Changmin holds his breath.

“Saito Ayame,” Qian says and smiles sunnily. 

Changmin can see Kaito’s brow furrow even more, all the way across the platform.

“I’m sorry?” Kaito says, blinking as the projections around them start to get on the train. 

Qian just keeps smiling, before bowing one last time. “It was very nice to meet you, Maeda-san,” she says, before getting on the train.

Changmin watches Kaito stare after her, heart pounding.

“That’s my mother’s name,” Kaito mutters, more an afterthought than anything else, but Changmin’s looking for it—was counting on it.

Heechul-hyung touches Kaito on the shoulder. “Kaito,” he says. “The train.”

Changmin watches the two of them step off the platform, exhilarated, left alone with his tie done up too tight.

The train doors close and the train embarks. 

“Like clockwork,” Yunho says from behind him. “Come on. We need to meet them at the apartment.” He grins. “Heechul-hyung said he’d use sleeping pills if we weren’t on time.”

Changmin rolls his eyes, but follows after him anyway. “Hyung,” he says, as they go up the stairs to catch the magic, dreamed up train to take them back to their apartment. “I’m sure Heechul-hyung can find something to keep Kaito busy with until tomorrow.”

Yunho turns back to look at him sharply and Changmin flushes.

“Not like that, Hyung, fuck,” he says, not meeting Yunho’s eyes. He’s thinking about the tiny window they were able to speak to Heechul-hyung, and how the man complained tragically about how he was going to go insane fending of Kaito’s advances, and then had a few choice words for Siwon-hyung that Changmin is really doing them all a favor by forgetting. 

Yunho blinks back at him, then ducks his head. 

“Pervert,” Changmin manages. 

Yunho keeps his head down all the way to the magic train, and then all the way back to the apartment. But he also walks close to Changmin the whole way, and more than a few times their hands tangle together like they’re going to link. 

 

* * *

 

At two forty-five p.m. on Saturday, Changmin, Yunho, Kyuhyun, Ara, Qian, and Siwon-hyung show up at Kaito and Isamu’s apartment as easy as you like to find Heechul-hyung wearing his own face. 

Yunho stares at him, clearly trying to decide if he should say something. 

Before he can, Changmin decides for him. “He’s going to spend four more days living with him as Isamu, hyung,” he says quietly. 

Yunho closes his mouth. 

Heechul-hyung shuts the door behind them. They’ve all seen pictures of Kaito’s apartment and spent more than their fair share of time in Ara’s constructed versions, but it’s still breathtaking looking around at all of the windows. Changmin would kill for windows like that—wall to floor—and wouldn’t be opposed to one in his bedroom. He could get electronic shades for it—rig the whole place with Bluetooth. Yunho wouldn’t care, would probably let Changmin do whatever, and, now Changmin’s thinking about his future plans like they all have to include Yunho.

He looks instead towards the PASIV. 

He turns towards Kyuhyun. “Are you ready?” he says.

Kyuhyun nods. “I’ve got the song queued and everything.” 

Changmin rolls his eyes; he’s made it very clear how he feels about the musical cue Yunho’s chosen for their synchronized falling kick back to this level, but he can’t help but do it again. 

“Remember. We’ll be down there for basically five hours, here.”

Kyuhyun stares at him like he’s an idiot, before reaching for the PASIV. 

Heechul-hyung’s brought Kaito out onto what is clearly their couch, and Changmin very wisely comes to the conclusion that the rest of them are going on the floor. “How are you even going to drop us?” says Heechul-hyung, glancing at Kyuhyun.

Kyuhyun shrugs, before gesturing them all down onto the ground. 

“It’s five hours, two minutes, thirty-seconds—” Changmin starts to tell Kyuhyun desperately, and Kyuhyun just puts a hand on his face and pushes him down. 

“Yes, Chwang, I can do basic math,” he says, and stabs the IV into Changmin’s arm.

“Ow, hey,” protests Changmin, looking over towards where Yunho’s lying down on the floor across from him. The man smiles at him.

“Try to spawn in the same place as the rest of us this time, Changminnie, yeah?” Yunho says.

Changmin scowls at him, face hot. “Spawn?” he says. “This isn’t a video game, Hyung. This is—”

“Real life, yes, Changdol, of course,” Yunho says.

Kyuhyun moves to help Heechul-hyung with his own needle. “Bye, Changmin,” he says, reaching to press the button on the PASIV without looking to make sure everyone is ready. “See you in five days.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Share this fic: [Tumblr](https://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/185391613090/homin-fic-its-alright-even-if-you-hate-me) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/1145413011823374336).
> 
> If you haven't already, now would be a good time to check out the [teaser edits](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/1132966447037259777)! They're awesome--send Kinah alllll the love; I'm in awe of her talent. 
> 
> See you all next weekend!


	6. The Job: Level Two | February 2019

Changmin comes awake to Yunho’s eyes, staring widely back at him, and Yunho’s hands, conveniently holding him by the hips. They’re pressed together so tightly that there’s absolutely no room to breathe, and a quick glance at their surroundings reveals they’ve ended up in some sort of supply closet. Changmin can’t remember the floor plans Ara drew for Kaito and Isamu’s imaginary Tokyo apartment, but mostly Changmin can’t remember anything period, not when Yunho’s staring at him with his perfect, beautiful eyes, and showing his nerves by biting his perfect, beautiful mouth. 

Changmin’s head feels too large for the small space around them. 

He exhales heavily through his nose, then inhales a mountain of what feels like mostly dust, and then spends the next few moments sneezing explosively directly into Yunho’s face. 

To his credit, Yunho just leans back a little and mostly takes it, squinting one eye open once Changmin’s finished, and then extricating one hand to wipe at the mess across his face. “Well,” he says. “That’s ruined the mood.” 

Changmin can’t really do more than gape at him, well and truly horrified, but also well and truly aware of the fact that the other one of Yunho’s hands is still resting precariously atop the swell of his right ass cheek. “Yunho-hyung,” he manages. “You are groping my ass!”

Yunho gives the cheek in question an almost involuntary seeming squeeze, before trying (and failing) to pull away from Changmin. The supplies around them rattle ominously and Changmin ends up lunging forward to better clutch at Yunho’s shoulders, not at all in the mood to show up to their dream rendezvous with a black eye from getting hit in the face with a broom. 

Nothing falls on them.

Yunho and Changmin remain pressed unfortunately close together, barely breathing.

“Changmin-ah,” Yunho manages finally.

“Yes, Yunho-hyung.”

“Do you… like me groping your ass?” Yunho says this with mild trepidation, almost like he can’t believe he has the guts to ask the question, but they’re two levels into the subconscious, even though it’s Qian’s on top of Kyuhyun’s, and sometimes it’s hard to think straight.

Especially now.

Especially for… Changmin.

He sputters. “What? I? No?”

Yunho stares back at him, clearly weighing all those questions. “Okay?” He says this like it’s a question.

Changmin debates moving enough so that the brooms take him out, and then remembers rather abruptly that that wouldn’t do anything but knock him down into _Limbo_ , and sours. “Fuck,” he says rather colorfully, and wrestles a hand between them so he can pull out his grandmother’s lighter. 

The move takes him worryingly close to Yunho’s cock, but Changmin’s too busy lighting up their broom closet with purple firelight to notice the other man’s wincing, and flinching, and slow-inching away from him.

“Dream,” Changmin says, more to himself than anything else, and then freezes, caught.

It takes Yunho an embarrassingly long time to figure it out. First, he gets himself untangled enough so that they’re no longer twisted together like lovers, then he gets his clothing straightened out so he doesn’t look quite so disheveled and mussed, and then he drags his grandfather’s pocket watch out of his front pocket and eyes the slow tick of the secondhand. 

“Dream,” he confirms, when the minute hand cycles through a full minute the normal way around, before looking up at Changmin’s wide, white-showing eyes. “What?”

Changmin clears his throat a few times. “Nothing,” he tries to say, because he’s used to playing it off as nothing. Sure, there have been moments on jobs when he and Yunho went for their totems without thinking about it, but Changmin’s done his best to avoid that most of the time, and Yunho can hardly remember to care, half the time. They’ve never been particularly worried about ruining each other, having been bonded well before their former best friends gave them a reason to distrust the industry they ended up in. But this is the first time it’s been so blatant.

Changmin hadn’t even thought about it. Had just fished his totem out of his pocket and lit it up without thinking, waiting for the purple flame that the ring on his finger told him he was going to see.

 Not that Yunho had been much better, getting his totem out almost simultaneously.

“Oh,” Yunho says, looking between the two of them nervously now. “Oh, well—”

“I trust you,” Changmin blurts, desperate to end the conversation. He puts his grandmother’s lighter into his pocket and grapples for Yunho’s hands.

Yunho’s grandfather’s watch goes away to where it’d come from easily enough, and then Changmin’s left holding both of Yunho’s hands between them, in a broom closet, staring deeply into his eyes confessing his fucking _trust_ in the man. The depth of that trust, shown by the fact that Changmin has stupidly revealed his fucking totem.

Changmin swallows and stops breathing. 

Yunho blinks for a few moments. “Thank you, Changminnie,” he says finally. 

Changmin starts breathing again. “You’re welcome—”

“I trust you too,” Yunho says finally. He grabs Changmin’s hands before Changmin can get fully away, and their rings clang together with an audible clack of metal on metal in the tiny space.

Changmin winces, heart rate going right back up, but Yunho’s too busy looking down at their hands.

He frowns, almost like he’s noticing the thing for the _first time_ , and Changmin’s heart rate goes even harder. So hard he worries about cardiac arrest, and wonders what would happen if he died of a heart attack on level two. Would he end up in Limbo then, even if he wasn’t just shot?

Probably.

Just Changmin’s luck. 

“Why do we always have these?” Yunho says, almost like he can’t believe he’s asking the question. He’s got a wistful tone to his words, a purse to his lips that makes Changmin think for two terrifying seconds he’s pulling his leg; makes him think about times long past, when Yunho would drag his hand close to his face and twist his ring this way and that, look at Changmin’s heartbeat underneath the band and say, grinning, ‘how’d this get here? It’s almost like you love me, Changdol-ah.’

Changmin tries to get his hands away again. “Dunno,” he says, not looking at Yunho. “Qian,” he adds, twisting to reach the door. “It’s her dream,” he continues, pulling fruitlessly on the handle—whoever put them here wants them to do something before they open it, clearly; fuck dreams. “She must think we’re… married.” The words come out like pulled teeth, but somehow Changmin manages to turn to Yunho with an innocent smile. “Sorry? That’s probably Kyuhyun’s fault. He said Heechul-hyung was talking about the Anan Job.”

For a few horrifying moments, Changmin thinks Yunho isn’t going to let him get away with this and might force the issue, but then his expression smooths out into a beautiful mix of amusement and contrite apology. “Oh yeah,” he says. “Because of Jung-ssi and Jung-ssi.”

Changmin sends a prayer topside and nods. “Yes.” He tugs on the door some more. “Fuck, Hyung, can you give me a hand?”

Yunho leans around him and puts his hands next to Changmin’s on the handle and tugs, which does nothing, and also lines their wedding rings right back up again.

Changmin’s heart really is trying to put them back in Limbo, it seems. “It’s not working,” he says somewhat obviously. “I think it—the dream—whoever did this—”

“It’s your fault,” Yunho decides, pulling with surprising strength.

His arms ripple under the suddenly very see-through long sleeve shirt Qian’s dreamed him in, and Changmin very quickly realizes they’re both barefoot and dressed like they live in the apartment complex. 

“Why are we in a broom closet?” he starts to say, around the time he hears Heechul-hyung’s voice from outside the hallway.

“Why is there laundry in the middle of the hallway?” the older man asks, voice carrying.

“Dunno,” Qian says. “But I just have a feeling this is where they are.”

“It’s all residential,” Ara adds helpfully. “Um—”

“It’s dude clothes,” Heechul-hyung continues. “For sure…” He pauses, like he’s pulled whoever it is’s stuff out of the basket to stare at. “And it’s… right outside this broom closet.”

Changmin closes his mouth. “Oh fuck,” he hisses, turning away from the door and staring at Yunho. “Yunho-hyung.”

Yunho’s eyes are on the closed door, but he very quickly looks at Changmin, mouth open to speak.

“I think it’s _our_ laundry,” Changmin hisses before he can, right at the same time Heechul-hyung and the rest of their team start up a highly invasive discussion about the clothing. Apparently, Qian is an asshole of the worst kind, who actually listened to the shit Kyuhyun likes to say about Changmin, and dreamed him an entire wardrobe of t-shirts with shitty English slogans on them.

“‘Sorry girls, I only date models,’” Heechul-hyung reads. “Wow. I don’t know if I should be embarrassed for this person or be their friend.”

“What?” Yunho’s still looking at the door; still holding onto the handle like if he tugs hard enough, it’ll decide to open.

“I think our dream selves.” Changmin stops, head spinning for the nonsense he’s about to utter. “I think Qian’s dreamed us as a fellow gay couple in Isamu and Kaito’s building and we’re meant to be doing laundry, but we got _distracted_ ,” he blurts out in one quick whisper. “Because both of my friends watch way too much anime, apparently,” he adds, thinking about the toast-carrying teenagers on Kyuhyun’s level. 

“Huh.” Yunho’s eyes are still very wide and very wet, but his lips are twitching despite himself.

“Do not laugh,” Changmin snaps at him in a whisper. “Don’t you dare _laugh_ , Hyung, you _asshole_. Clearly we won’t be allowed to leave this closet—”

“Until we get caught making out,” Yunho infers rather brilliantly, grinning and stepping in close like he’s going to kiss Changmin without explicit permission anyway. “Right, Changdol?” He’s not really whispering anymore and Heechul-hyung and their team are _right there—_ “That’s what’s supposed to happen?” He’s teasing and taunting and making a huge fuss out of it like the competitive dick he always is, but he’s also not kissing Changmin. Hell, he’s not even touching Changmin, just standing in front of him with his hands hovering around like he’s ready to take Changmin by both hips, but not doing anything. Just grinning and looking amused and wearing _Changmin’s heartbeat_ around his fucking ring finger. 

General tropes say they’re going to fall out of the closet the moment one of them goes up against the door, and absolutely no way is that person going to be Changmin. He pulls his shoulders back and tightens his jaw, before spinning and pushing Yunho forcefully up against the closet door. The thing shakes, surprisingly not drawing the attention of their fellow teammates—Changmin thinks, with the rather sudden lucidity of one about to do something terribly stupid, that it’s odd that Siwon-hyung isn’t with them—but then, that’s dreams for you.

“Changdol.” Yunho’s eyes are practically sparkling.

“Yunho,” Changmin says right back, and then kisses him.

He gets all of two seconds of blissful, perfect heat, and then the door behind them is falling open and Yunho and Changmin are pinwheeling less-than-gracefully out into the open.

Heechul-hyung’s the only one who sees it fully—Ara and Qian are too busy picking over the abandoned laundry basket—and he lowers the t-shirt in his hands almost comically slowly.

Yunho and Changmin disengage immediately, grinning a little because they both can’t help it, and make a show of straightening their clothes. 

“Oops, sorry, Yunho-san,” Changmin says in Japanese, catching Yunho’s eyes. He pads over to the laundry basket and hefts it into both arms. “That’s mine, sorry.”

Qian and Ara are looking between the two of them like they’re a tennis match, but they each set their bundle of clothing back into the basket without comment. “Right,” Qian replies in almost Korean. “Right, yes, sorry for looking through it without your permission.” She bows.

Changmin bows right back, and Yunho comes to stand behind him, one hand hooking around Changmin’s waist in a move that is way more casual than it should be and makes Changmin’s stomach twist guiltily. 

(They’ve done this before. Been domestic like this before. But only for fake friends. Only for _projections_.) 

“It’s fine,” Yunho says, around the time Siwon-hyung rounds the corner looking frantic.

Immediately whatever show Yunho and Changmin were putting on is secondary.

“What’s wrong?” Heechul-hyung says, standing to attention. “I told you to stay in the room—you can’t be seen—”

“He’s in the elevator,” Siwon-hyung interrupts, glancing briefly between Yunho and Changmin and the girls before turning his full attention to Heechul-hyung. “You’ve got like five minutes to be in the apartment and be—”

Heechul-hyung stands to his full height in one fluid movement, his own skin shifting away until he’s Isamu again.

“Isamu,” Siwon-hyung finishes. He looks between Yunho and Changmin one more time. “Come on—” He gestures towards Ara and Qian.

Changmin watches them all start off in different directions feeling vaguely proud, before a thought occurs to him. “Hang on. Qian?”

She pauses, turning over her shoulder. “Yeah?”

“What is our apartment number—”

“Oh, uh, 618,” she shouts back, ducking her head, and then hurries away with Ara and Siwon-hyung.

Changmin is left with his laundry basket and Yunho, who reaches in to pull out a t-shirt that says ‘#Handsome’ with a grin. He pulls it on, mussing up his hair, and dimples up at Changmin.

“What do you think?” he says.

“I think you’re a bastard,” Changmin tells him, but grabs him by the hand and tugs him blushing down the hallway towards apartment 618 anyway. 

The only people in the hall are Maeda Kaito’s subconscious, and Changmin thinks it’s only fair the man get a front row seat to Changmin’s failure to keep a healthy amount of professional distance, given they’re here to steal his secrets and ruin his wedding.

The first day in the dream is actually the easiest, mostly because it involves the most amount of truth. Changmin’s no stranger to using time ellipses on the job, but this is the first time their success is reliant on not one, not two, but three separate time skips. Kaito has to believe today is Sunday—which it is, since Qian’s control is near perfect and she and Yunho went over the plan with a single-mindedness that gave even Changmin a headache—and then he has to believe tomorrow is Wednesday, and the day after that is next Sunday, and then Monday, and Tuesday, then February 14, 2019, one level down. 

Time skips aren’t the most complicated thing to do. In dreams, the mind is already primed for all sorts of paradoxes and nonsense, but they’re still a risk. There’s always a risk when meddling with the subconscious, even if Kaito isn’t militarized, and even if this particular dream is going to be rather easy for him.

It all comes down to Heechul-hyung, whose role as Isamu is critical towards getting Kaito to believe the time paradoxes without pause, and to getting Kaito to make the intuitive leaps necessary for them to go down a level without pause. 

They’ve only got the four ‘days’ and Changmin is anxious.

He’s also playing house with Yunho, but all that gets thrown on the back burner because otherwise Changmin might light said house on _fire._

Still, Heechul-hyung is a master, and Sunday goes perfectly.

Qian calls the apartment as scheduled, voice prim and to the point.

Heechul-hyung answers the call as scheduled, voice confused and somewhat shocked.

Kaito hovers in the background in and out of view of the cameras they’ve lined the place with, wearing a dress shirt and what looks like little else.

There had been words, from Heechul-hyung before Kaito woke properly that morning, about how Changmin was going to owe Heechul-hyung at least three honeymoon-worthy vacations after this, because Maeda Kaito was an attractive, full blooded male, who justifiably didn’t see any reason why the love of his life shouldn’t want to sleep with him any chance they got. 

Heechul-hyung was holding out with the skills of a man who’d already done ninety-six hours on level one with Kaito but had also taken to glaring unapologetically at all ten of the cameras Changmin had placed strategically around the apartment.

Changmin was thinking he’d buy Heechul-hyung a three-week private cruise, or something, so he could get a start on the tan he was always complaining about not being full body because of _propriety_.

Now, looking at the frankly indecent way Kaito is arranging himself at his and Isamu’s breakfast nook—and he’s definitely not wearing anything under the dress shirt; dear _God—_ Changmin decides he ought to be booking Heechul-hyung several cruises.

And maybe a lifetime’s supply of massages.

“Hello?” Heechul-hyung says in Japanese, voice ringing loud and clear throughout Changmin and Yunho’s apartment.

It attaches to the one Siwon-hyung’s staying in with Ara and Qian even though they’re all on different floors and have no reason to know each other.

Changmin would know how that works, but he’s learned better than to ruminate over Ara’s designs. She’d gotten particularly inspired towards the end when Yunho told her they were going to be doing a four day fake-week in an apartment complex, and while Changmin thinks he’ll be able to appreciate what she’s done afterwards, mostly he’d just like to get to afterwards before taking time out of his busy schedule to appreciate unique dream architecture. 

“Hello, Isamu-san,” Qian says into the phone, already all the way Maeda Ayame. “I trust you’re well?”

And Changmin has to hand it to her, even as he’s got one eye on the blinking dot that’s Yunho and Ara as they break into Ayame’s office to set up the cameras and microphones for Wednesday. She doesn’t have to be in forge for this conversation, since it’s Heechul-hyung, and Heechul-hyung knows it’s Qian, not Ayame, but she’s doing it anyway.

Yeah, Changmin could say that it’s in case Kaito decides to get up close and personal with Heechul-hyung’s ear, but Kaito’s far too busy orgasming over the food Heechul-hyung cooked them both for breakfast to be bothered by the phone call.

At least until it becomes clear that Qian wants Heechul-hyung to name her right back, and the man turns so that his whole body is masking the phone.

“Maeda-san,” he says in a whisper. “Hello.”

Qian paces the floor with the kind of elegant grace that has Changmin’s hands twitching for a sniper rifle, and reminds him of time spent behind a chalkboard instead of on a shooting range. “I’m assuming my son is in the room with you,” she says delicately, perfectly poised.

Heechul-hyung darts a look towards Kaito, who’s finished his eggs and is happily munching on his toast.

“You should cook American style more often,” he tells Heechul-hyung.

Heechul-hyung manages to smile back at him. “Yes,” he tells Kaito and Qian both.

“Ah,” says Qian.

Heechul-hyung’s eyes glaze quickly over the camera he knows is pointed at him like he’s daring Qian to get a move on, but it’s so fast that Changmin thinks he might have imagined it.

“I’m about to be out of the country for the next week visiting Malaysia on business,” Qian says loftily, crossing the room again. “But when I come back—next Monday—”

Kaito makes a particularly audible noise of pleasure as he finishes his toast, and Heechul-hyung winces and turns away again, the perfect picture of boyfriend caught out by boyfriend’s mother with said boyfriend not a meter away from him wearing nothing but a dress shirt. 

“I would like very much for us to have lunch.”

Heechul-hyung makes a noise like he’s swallowed his tongue.

“Mu-chan?” Kaito says, turning to look at his significant other fully in the face. “Are you alright?”

Heechul-hyung goes adorably red in the face. “Fine! Good! Something went down my throat the wrong way!”

Changmin looks between the screen and Siwon-hyung. “Mu-chan,” he repeats back.

Siwon-hyung looks distinctly uncomfortable. “I think it’s cute?”

“You’re paying us to change his _mind_ , Siwon-hyung,” Changmin says rather sharply.

Siwon-hyung looks guilty, then frowns. “I _know_ that,” he snaps back, looking down at the screen and Kaito and Heechul-hyung’s wedded bliss. “And he’s obviously in love with… Isamu.” The man’s name comes out sounding like Siwon-hyung’s swallowed a lemon.

Changmin looks between Siwon-hyung and the screen for a few more moments, and then stands. “Wait,” he says, looking again. “Wait. No.”

Siwon-hyung’s going pink now. “Changmin—”

“You and—” Changmin breaks off, glancing around like someone is going to overhear them. “You and _Heechul-hyung—_ ”

Siwon-hyung breaks him off by frantically putting a hand over his mouth. “Don’t say that!” he says somewhat desperately. “Someone could hear you!”

“You mean _Heechul-hyung_ ,” Changmin says into Siwon-hyung’s palm, still trying to reconcile his realization with his conception of reality. It’s all making so much more sense now. Yunho-hyung being weird over drinks at Shilla. Kyuhyun being weird period. Changmin must be an oblivious _idiot_. 

Siwon-hyung finally pulls his hand back, expression pinched. “Are you going to behave?” he says at the same time Changmin says, “Do you have any location preferences since I’m buying Heechul-hyung a honeymoon cruise and I’m sure he’ll want you to come.”

There’s a long pause.

Siwon-hyung opens and closes his mouth a few times.

Yunho says, very suddenly into Changmin’s ear, “the office is bugged and good to go, Changminnie.” Then, “what’s this about honeymoon cruises?”

Changmin pulls the in-ear out, almost having forgotten it was there in the first place. “Nothing you need concern yourself with, Hyung,” he viciously tells Yunho rather unfairly, because even though it’s not Yunho’s fault Changmin forgot he and Ara had comms in, he’s damn well going to act like it is.

Changmin looks back at the screen.

Heechul-hyung and Ayame appear to have hung up the phone—Qian looks back at Changmin from where she’s settled into an enormous armchair, still fucking wearing Ayame, in a fucking kimono with her bare feet crossed and up on the breakfast bar, eating a bowl of fucking grapes—and now Heechul-hyung and Kaito have graduated to even more painfully lovesick flirting. 

Changmin puts the in-ear back in. “Make that four cruises,” he says absently, as Kaito takes advantage of a lull in conversation to stick his tongue down Heechul-hyung’s throat, and then grabs the half-heartedly protesting man by the ass. “Or… five,” he continues, as Heechul-hyung is forced to shoot Kaito up with a conveniently dreamed up needle to get him to stop.

Kaito goes down like a particularly gorgeous swan, and Heechul-hyung has the decency to arrange him on their couch with his modesty intact. The look he levels down at the camera behind their flatscreen is positively incendiary. 

Changmin decides to add in a few complimentary clean aliases. For both Siwon-hyung and Heechul-hyung.

 

* * *

 

Wednesday goes off without a hitch.

Kaito wakes up from a surprisingly not drugged-induced sleep and accepts the fact that the world around him has lost two full days without so much as a pause, but Heechul-hyung ends up on the receiving end of a painfully embarrassing morning blowjob for his trouble.

Changmin thankfully misses that, but Yunho is oh so kind enough to tell him all about it over their own breakfast, in time for the man in question to come parading into the apartment thankfully wearing his own face, and immediately crossing the room to pour alcohol down his throat like he was the one giving morning head.

Qian and Ara watch him with barely concealed amusement. 

“What?” Heechul-hyung snaps, setting down the bottle of sake and tugging angrily at Isamu’s oversized shirtsleeves. “Forgive me if forging clothing is beyond me this morning, Qian.”

Qian raises both hands. “Hey, don’t look at me, I’m not the one refusing to take one for the team.”

Heechul-hyung glowers at her. “I’ll have you know if this job in anyway required me to—” He breaks off to do the words proper air quotes— “‘take one for the team,’ I would have no problem doing so.” He scowls. “It just so happens I like Kaito and would rather not actually rape him on top of—” He breaks off, wincing and exchanging a look with Siwon-hyung that makes _so much fucking sense right now Changmin is inwardly screaming_. “Mind raping him,” Heechul-hyung finishes, looking incredibly constipated.

Qian very wisely decides not to say anything.

“And we’re all incredibly grateful for your discretion, Heechul-hyung,” Yunho says finally, like the leader he is. “So anyway. Kaito.”

“Kaito,” Changmin agrees. He looks at his watch, pleased to note that enough time has passed for them to justifiably put their plan into notion. “Qian?”

“Let’s wait until lunch,” Qian says, licking her lips and leaning a hip against the breakfast bar.

Changmin raises an eyebrow.

“That way I can stay on the line with him,” Qian explains, picking up one of the fresh strawberries Changmin went and got Yunho early this morning and popping one into her perfectly painted red mouth. There’s no smudge—dream—and Changmin’s fingers itch for his totem just to make sure.

He puts his ring hand into a pocket on his jeans anyway, casting a quick glance at Yunho’s matching one, visible because of the way he’s crossing his arms as he leans up against the fridge. 

“That’s a good idea,” Ara says, leaning around Qian to get her own strawberry. “Oppa wouldn’t let me put in a tripwire.”

Yunho uncrosses his arms and flushes. “Someone would have noticed,” he protests, going to grab his own strawberry, thankfully with his dominant hand. “Ayame does have security, you know.”

Ara stares back at him, unimpressed. “No, I hadn’t noticed when I was busy knocking them out because you failed to pick the lock in under five minutes,” she says. 

Yunho flushes even more, and Changmin feels the irrational urge to defend him.

“Anyway, if Qian’s on the line with him, she can trip him,” Ara continues, before Changmin can say anything.

Heechul-hyung unfolds from the chair he’d settled into and comes around to grab for his own fruit, stealing one for Siwon-hyung and lobbing the thing into the man’s open mouth happily.

Changmin looks between all of them with his brows to his hairline. “Those were for Yunho-hyung,” he says a little pointlessly.

Yunho eats a strawberry out of Heechul-hyung’s fucking hands. “Sharing is caring, Changminnie,” he says. 

Changmin fights the urge to throw the carton at him. “Anyway,” he says, pointedly trying to steer the conversation back on track and away from his ridiculous interjection. “How is Qian supposed to trip him over a phone call?”

Which, really, is probably why when Qian calls Kaito to ask him to go to her office and grab her some files that just so happened to be tucked onto a shelf next to her high school yearbook, Changmin ends up stuck in the apartment standing next to Qian, while Yunho and Heechul-hyung get to sneak into the Maeda estate disguised as who knows what. 

Siwon-hyung is stuck in the apartment too, but he just raises both hands and points out that Kaito shouldn’t be dreaming about his fiancé, before engaging Ara in an invigorating game of chess.  

“Watch and learn, Maximum Changmin,” Qian says smugly, before shifting effortlessly into Maeda Ayame. “Yes, Kaito, darling? Are you busy? No? Good. I need you to grab something from my office.”

In the end, Qian doesn’t have to verbally trip a man through the force of dream hypnosis, or whatever. 

Changmin gets distracted telling Heechul-hyung off for staring at his own reflection in the windows he and Yunho are pretending to be cleaning outside the estate, Siwon-hyung gets distracted losing soundly to Ara at chess, and when they all finally manage to look back towards Kaito’s journey into Ayame’s office, the man has tripped over his own feet and somehow grabbed the very yearbook they were looking to have him discover, the fall throwing the worn velvet ring box onto the floor, and the book ending up open to the conveniently creased photo of Ayame and Naoki.

“Well,” Changmin says, watching Kaito pocket the ring box almost unconsciously and pet over the kanji he knows spells out Honda Naoki and Saito Ayame. “I certainly learned.” He pauses. “That you love anime as much as Kyu—”

“Shut up, Maximum Changmin,” Qian says loudly, herself again, and then as Ayame, when Kaito makes an odd noise over the phone, “Nothing, darling. Did you find it?”

“Yeah,” Kaito says, not at all looking at the files he’s supposed to be grabbing for his mother. “Mom. Who is Honda Naoki?”

Qian’s reaction is suitably shocked and embarrassed, sputtering, coughing, and all together playing her part perfectly. She scolds Kaito, flustered, and he very quickly shuts the yearbook and hurries from the office immediately, ring box in his pocket completely forgotten. 

It really couldn’t have gone any better, Changmin thinks.

 

* * *

 

Next Sunday goes as perfectly as Wednesday before it. 

Kaito wisens up to his boyfriend’s nerves, has it out with him over dinner about the fact that his mother has started calling said boyfriend to arrange for them to have lunch together without his knowing, and manages to be talked into insisting he accompany Heechul-hyung to the get together all without realizing that was their plan all along.

There is no need for Heechul-hyung to drug the man that night, but Kaito makes sure to kiss Heechul-hyung once goodnight, and by morning they’re entwined in a way that makes Changmin almost feel guilty for having the cameras in the room, let alone attempting inception. 

Still, by the time it’s Monday Kaito seems to have forgiven Isamu.

Especially when he finds out the restaurant that his mother wants them to meet at.

They drive there together, silent the entire trip to the point that Changmin wishes he’d told Heechul-hyung to ditch the wire, and then spend five minutes sitting in their car outside the place.

Changmin and Yunho are playing waiters this afternoon and Ara is playing patron with Siwon-hyung, who somehow managed a decent enough forge for a background projection with his back to Qian’s table. 

Changmin’s most glad that time has returned to being chronological, because even though they all know the time skips are a ruse, their brains still almost buy into it alongside Kaito. It’s a dream, and time is meant to pass differently in dreams, even if Changmin has the totem to prove that it’s not real. There’s a reason that people have gone insane for spending too much time in dreams; a reason that Limbo is the stuff of nightmares; a reason that Qian and Ara demanded a cut increase when they found out they’d be going three levels down under a sedative. 

Changmin looks down at the paper napkins he’s started shredding, and very kindly dreams the restaurant cloth ones. 

A few of Kaito’s projections look at him, but he just smiles and hurries to refill their water glasses with a polite bow. 

“Mother,” Kaito says, when he and Heechul-hyung finally come into the restaurant. They make a beeline towards Qian’s table, taking in the fact that she’s set it for two, and end up standing there awkwardly when she neither raises to greet them, or moves to acknowledge their presence.

Yunho comes up to the table then, asking if Qian would like them to make up another seat for her.

“That won’t be necessary,” Qian says finally, setting down her teacup and looking up at her son and his lover. “Isamu-kun,” she adds. “How good of you to make it.” Not once does she look at Kaito.

Changmin can see the color in his cheeks all the way across the room.

Heechul-hyung bites at his bottom lip, tugging a little hopelessly like Kaito’s going to let him get his hand free to properly greet his mother.

“Maeda-san,” he says finally, bowing despite the fact that Kaito’s trying to drag him upright, snarling. “It’s lovely to see you as well.”

Qian dips her head, eyes looking over Kaito briefly, before returning to Heechul-hyung. “Sit,” she says.

Yunho rushes a chair forward for Kaito, bowing, and Qian’s gaze turns toward him much like a dragon might eye a fly, Changmin thinks.

She says nothing.

Kaito sits, glowering.

Heechul-hyung follows, worrying his bottom lip even more. 

They finally stop holding hands.

“Excuse me.” 

Changmin turns his attention to the projections still in the establishment, professional veneer in place. 

“Might we have the bill?” the projections ask, and Changmin makes note of that. Kaito’s projections want to give him privacy, and that has to mean something. That he’s uncomfortable, or that he wants this to stay between him and his mother, or simply that he’s aware that this is an important conversation. A glance shows that Siwon-hyung has hunched into himself at his and Ara’s table, and Ara reaching over to touch the back of his hand. Changmin doesn’t have time to deal with Siwon-hyung’s second thoughts, and instead turns his attention to the projections in front of him.

“Of course,” he says, going to do just that.

By the time Qian has felt the need to finally address Heechul-hyung, Changmin has finished bowing the remaining projections out of the restaurant, leaving the place surprisingly empty save the rest of the team.

Kaito doesn’t seem to notice—too busy glaring at his mother. 

Yunho comes to their table once more, asking if Heechul-hyung or Kaito would like tea.

“Yes—” Kaito starts to say, but Qian speaks over him.

“No thank you,” she says politely. “Do you need any, Isamu-san?”

Heechul-hyung looks distinctly uncomfortable, but Kaito seems finally speechless. 

“Really, mother?” he says. “Really?”

“Erm, no thank you,” Heechul-hyung manages, not looking at either of them.

Qian doesn’t look away from Heechul-hyung, then smiles up at Yunho. “None for me,” she says again.

Yunho bows and retreats, eyes catching Changmin’s before he can get all the way free, and lips quirking despite himself.

Changmin refrains from grinning back with iron self-control, but he’s pleased. Things are going _perfectly_. If he hadn’t seen Qian and Heechul-hyung rehearse this with Siwon-hyung’s projection of Kaito before, he’d almost think it was improv.

Although he supposes it is, in a way, since in all their practices and this conversation as well they’ve never said the same thing twice, but still. It’s a highly choreographed dance, and both of them are taking turns leading Kaito around flawlessly. 

At this point, Yunho and Changmin ought to go and ask them if they want food, but they hold off, waiting to see where Qian and Heechul-hyung will steer the conversation next.

Qian makes a show of unfolding her napkin, which Changmin made sure was shaped in the form of a tree for Naoki. She sets the thing in her lap with purposeful slowness, and Changmin can see the steam practically coming out of Kaito’s ears.

Heechul-hyung very quietly sets a hand on his thigh, grounding him and aggravating him at once. 

Changmin watches the shakes go through him under the table, waiting.

“Well,” Qian says finally. “I think we both know why we’re here.”

Kaito moves like he wants to say something, but Heechul-hyung’s grip on his thigh keeps him silent.

“Yes,” Heechul-hyung says quietly, even though Changmin knows the way he’s playing it he doesn’t know.

Kaito certainly glances at him like that, concern bleeding over the anger and leaving his handsome features twisted.

He really is objectively attractive, and Changmin would agree with Siwon-hyung that he seems nice. If Siwon-hyung were anyone else—if Yunho and Changmin were anyone else—if they hadn’t all spent months preparing for this moment—Changmin thinks they might have humored Siwon-hyung’s second thoughts. 

Certainly they might have found a way to love each other, Changmin thinks.

But then he looks at the way Kaito looks at Isamu, even though it’s Heechul-hyung, and remembers that Heechul-hyung might only be playing the man in front of them, but that that act is in fact based on reality.

Kaito and Isamu deserve to be happy together.

Siwon-hyung deserves to be happy with someone.

Maeda Ayame and Choi Kiho shouldn’t be allowed to trade their children like livestock.

“They way I see it, you have two options,” Qian is saying when Changmin finally tunes back into the conversation. “I pay you a ridiculous amount of money so that you leave my son, or you cause a scene, and leave my son.” 

Kaito breaks his silence on a bark of a laugh. “Really, mother?” he says again. “I am _right_ here.”

Heechul-hyung tightens his grip on Kaito’s leg, but Kaito shoves him off. “Kaito. Don’t make a scene,” Heechul-hyung whispers.

“Don’t make a scene?” Kaito spits back. “ _I_ shouldn’t make a scene?” He laughs like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing, and looks between his mother and boyfriend like he’s not sure how he ended up here.

Heechul-hyung’s turned a serious gaze on Qian. “Why?” he says suddenly, voice finally carrying. 

Qian looks back at him, letting respect to show in the glimmer of her cold eyes. “Choi Kiho’s son shares the same… proclivities… as you and Kaito,” she says, sipping her tea.

Heechul-hyung’s mouth drops open. “Proclivities,” he says. “You mean he likes—”

“Cock,” Kaito finishes for him, right as Yunho approaches the table in the guise of refilling the water.

Kaito eyes him, then reaches for the pitcher before he’s done so that he can top of his glass, drinking down mouthfuls like Yunho’s Jesus and it’ll turn into wine. 

Qian keeps her cool. “Don’t be vulgar, Kaito,” she says, and it’s the first time she’s addressed her son the entire conversation.

Kaito comes off his water glass with another too-loud laugh. “Don’t be vulgar,” he repeats. “Me. _I_ shouldn’t be vulgar. When you’ve asked my boyfriend here today so that you can offer to _pay him_ to leave me.” He laughs some more, looking around the room at nothing like doing so might the change the situation. 

In reality, that’d be good. In a dream, Qian has to lean forward and subtly hold the fabric of reality steady, and Changmin is suddenly glad Kaito’s projections abandoned them.  

Siwon-hyung and Ara’s Chinese conversation comes in and out of focus, but otherwise seems to be affording them the correct illusion of privacy. 

“Men,” Heechul-hyung continues, as if Kaito hadn’t said anything. “Choi Kiho’s son likes men?”

Qian’s tone is grudgingly pleased. “Exclusively, I hear,” she says.

Siwon-hyung tries to turn and look at her, but Ara laughs loudly and keeps his attention.

Kaito’s still staring at Heechul-hyung. “You’re just going to let her _get away with this_?” he sputters out, twins spots of color starting to bloom in the center of both cheeks. “Isamu—”

Heechul-hyung grabs him by the hand, effectively cutting him off mid-tirade. He faces down Qian with sudden intensity, eyes serious, even as Changmin watches the almost gentle way he’s rubbing his thumb over the back of Kaito’s hand. “And why should I listen to you and take your money, Maeda-san?” he says.

Qian’s expression is even more grudgingly impressed. “Choi Kiho has expressed interest in both Proculus Global and my son,” she says.

There’s a pause, where Changmin seems to think about the unfortunate connotations of that phrasing alongside Yunho and Qian, who flushes a little awkwardly and continues quickly.

“In the marital status of my son,” she corrects.

Kaito lets out an almost audible breath, and Ara has to step on Siwon-hyung’s foot hard to keep him from reacting. 

“A match between our families would be… good business,” Qian finishes. She lets her gaze dart to her son’s face for all of a second. 

It’s fucking masterful.

Kaito is the one to finally break the silence. “I am _right here_ ,” he says again. “Mother—”

Heechul-hyung is practically white-knuckling Kaito’s hand. “And you think with me out of the way, Kaito will just _agree_ to let you marry him off,” he says.

Qian lifts her chin. “Yes,” she says, with no fanfare. “Kaito is a good son.”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Kaito spits out, finally red in the face properly. He looks like he wants to say more, and then he looks like he wants to cry, and so he ends up somewhere in the middle, speechless and breathing hard and looking like the only thing keeping him together is the grip Heechul-hyung has on his fingers.

Heechul-hyung finally stands, still holding Kaito by the hand and hauling him pointedly alongside him. His expression is grim, but no less polite. “Maeda-san,” he says politely. “I am very sorry, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to accept your terms.” 

Qian stares back at him, silent.

Heechul-hyung dips his head in a bow, and then straightens. “Thank you for lunch.” 

The scrape of his chair pushing away from the table is deafening in the mostly empty restaurant. 

Kaito stands next to him, face still red, eyes still wet, but when Heechul-hyung moves to go, he follows, not speaking.

Changmin comes to stand next to Yunho staring off after them, heart going what feels like a mile a minute. “What—” He breaks off when Yunho puts a hand on his lips.

They can see them through the glass windows out the front, watch as Kaito pulls Heechul-hyung up onto his tiptoes and kisses him, laughing a little, and then grin as he puts his hands in his pockets.

“What?” the words form on Kaito’s lips almost as if he’s reading from a script, and Changmin hurries to look like he’s wiping down a table so that Kaito doesn’t notice anything odd when he comes back into the restaurant. 

The door swings open with a gentle ring of the bell, Kaito’s footsteps sounding just as loud on their way in as they had on his and Heechul-hyung’s way out. He stops in front of his mother with his head down, hands in front of him. The velvet ring box moves from palm to palm. His tongue licks nervously across the seam of his lips.

Qian doesn’t look at him.

Kaito look at her, expression surprisingly guarded.

Changmin figures he can hardly be blamed for how he’s barely breathing. 

Finally, Qian snaps. “What?” She doesn’t lift her head. 

“I feel sorry for you,” Kaito says, tone surprisingly quiet. He sets the ring box down on the table on Heechul-hyung’s empty plate. There’s no noise because of the velvet, but Changmin feels the impact in his toes. It’s like the whole restaurant shakes, and no way Kyuhyun’s messing with the apartment building one level up. “I feel sorry for you, Kaa-san,” Kaito continues, and turns to go. He bits at his bottom lip. “I love him.”

He holds his head high as he starts to leave.

Qian says, “Kaito.”

For a moment Changmin thinks Kaito won’t stay, but then he stiffens, head still high, and turns to look back at his mother. The expression on his face is terrible. 

Qian’s not looking at him, though. She’s got the ring out, rusted and dent for dent like the one Hyukjae-hyung found in reality, and she’s twisting it between two fingers. “I’m proud of you,” she says.

And Kaito makes this choked, broken-sounding noise, and practically runs the entire way out of the restaurant. 

Changmin watches the part of his mouth around the words, watches Heechul-hyung put a hand on Kaito’s wrist and ask if he’s okay, and lets the fact that this is a dream allow him to hear Kaito say the words, “It’s fine. I’m fine. Let’s just go. I love you—” before Heechul-hyung is hurrying him into the car and they’re driving away.

They leave dust and exhaust fumes in their wake.

Changmin sinks down into one of the empty chairs like he’s run a marathon.

A moment later, he hears Yunho sit down beside him.

A moment later, he looks to see Qian has changed back into herself.

He says, “Does real life Isamu love Kaito as much as Heechul-hyung thinks he does?”

“He better,” mutters Qian, changing her tea into sake and downing the entire glass.

“Yes,” replies Yunho, with absolutely no hesitation.

Changmin looks at him and he’s looking back, and the expression on his face makes Changmin’s heart ache like the exchange with Kaito hadn’t. He nods. “Okay,” he says. “Nine a.m. tomorrow, then.”

Yunho nods.

Nine a.m. Tuesday, they all gather in Kaito and Isamu’s apartment to go down a level, and for once, none of them speak.

Changmin looks at Qian, passes her a phone queued with their musical cue, and nods.

Qian nods back, hands gentle on his as she passes him the IV line.

Heechul-hyung smooths surprisingly gentle hands through Kaito’s hair where he lies still sleeping on the bed, and then stands. 

They dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Share this fic: [Tumblr](https://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/185391613090/homin-fic-its-alright-even-if-you-hate-me) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/1147990246929457152).
> 
> See you all next weekend! ~~/cackles menacingly I mean what who said that.~~


	7. The Job: Level Three | February 2019

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THE DELAY ON THIS!!!! I went to see Hamilton last weekend, and foolishly thought I CAN TOTALLY DO PRODUCTIVE THINGS AFTER 6+ HOURS OF TRAVEL AND A HAMILTINI. Anyway, I'll be posting chapter 8 on Friday and then chapter 9 on Sunday so we'll catch right up!!

Changmin wakes up in the lobby of the hotel sitting next to Ara, who’s holding a magazine. A check of his watch shows that they’re right on schedule for Kaito and Siwon-hyung to be landing at LaGuardia, but until they hear directly from Siwon-hyung to confirm that the man successfully woke up on the plane with Kaito, Changmin’s going to be nervous.

He’s allowed.

They’re three levels deep into a man’s subconscious and it’s the moment of truth.

Literally.

Heechul-hyung is the only forger they have with them, but he’s not prepared to play Ayame. Whatever gets off that plane with Kaito in the next few hours and arrives to the hotel for the merger announcement and engagement announcement is going to be Kaito’s own projection of his mother, and what she says and does is the lynchpin the entire job rests upon. 

Changmin uncrosses and recrosses his legs. 

Ara doesn’t lower her magazine but scolds him. “Changmin-oppa.”

Changmin startles guiltily. “Sorry.” 

Yunho walks by, followed by a blessedly-himself Heechul-hyung, and says very loudly into his phone in Korean, “yes, it’s good to hear you’ve _landed_ safely.” 

Changmin leans back on the couch and inclines his head to look at Ara, who finally drops the magazine.

Yunho makes a show of putting away his phone and sitting down a few seats away from Changmin and Ara, not looking at either of them.

Changmin starts to open his mouth to tell him off, and then realizes when he catches sight of the twitch of the corner of the man’s lips that he’s _making fun of Changmin_ , and scowls. “Hyung,” he mutters.

Yunho slides over so he’s sitting next to Changmin and facing Ara. “Changmin.” He turns. “Ara.” Another head tilt, and Heechul-hyung sinks into Yunho’s vacated seat with a sigh. 

Changmin rolls his eyes. “So they’ve safely landed?” he says, turning to face Yunho fully. 

That finally earns him a scowl, but when Changmin turns back, he finds Ara and Heechul-hyung on the tail end of exchanging an amused look. 

“Yep.” Yunho keeps his gaze on the projections making up the hotel staff. “Siwonnie said it was the easiest landing he’s ever experienced. Although he did say he wasn’t particularly impressed with Kaito’s projection of his father. And Sooyeon.”

Changmin lifts a brow.

“Let’s just say Kaito might be bisexual,” Yunho says, and then does a truly horrific mime of large breasts.

Changmin tries to remember what Siwon-hyung’s personal assistant looks like, then winces. “But they’re—”

“On their way here right now,” Yunho says.

The waitstaff look suitably anxious, rushing around and talking in hushed tones about the foreigners coming to monopolize their hotel. Yunho keeps shimmering in and out of his forge, meant to dampen his features and make him look not out of place in a hotel in New York. For the actual job, they’ll all do some rudimentary forging in case their masks get taken off, but for now, they’re mostly just trying to observe and get into place.

Changmin’s phone chimes. It’s seven-fifteen, and everything is right on schedule. He pockets it neatly, leaning further back against the couch. 

“We couldn’t have started closer to the actual merger?” Ara says out of the side of her mouth after a few moment’s pause.

“No,” Changmin replies. “No way Ayame wouldn’t fly in early.”

“Perfectionist,” Ara agrees, having discussed forging the woman with Qian multiple times. 

“Intelligent,” Changmin argues, fully aware of the fickle nature of airlines, even with the kind of money that Proculus Global and Boryung Energy possess. 

“Is that--” Yunho says suddenly, leaning forward and putting his hands onto his knees. 

Changmin follows his gaze to the revolving doors and sits up himself. “No,” he says finally, because Heechul-hyung is still sitting a few seats down from them fooling around on his phone. “No.” He doesn’t raises his voice, just says, “Hyung,” and Heechul-hyung looks up from his screen to watch Oshiro Isamu step through the doors. 

It’s… Kaito’s projection of him.

Has to be, given Heechul-hyung.

He’s wearing a long expensive coat and carrying a small carryon, but he doesn’t look anything like someone who happened upon the hotel where his ex-boyfriend is about to announce his arranged engagement to another man. He looks especially not like someone who was threatened into dumping said ex-boyfriend so that said ex-boyfriend could be free to marry that other man.

He mostly just looks innocuous and a little jet-lagged, but Changmin is pleased to note that his mannerisms are familiar.

When he looks, Heechul-hyung has fixed him with a smug grin. “What?” he says. “Did you think I was an amateur?”

Changmin very kindly doesn’t voice any of his opinions of Heechul-hyung’s skills, and instead watches Isamu check in at the front desk in perfect English. “Huh,” he says. “He full on _Parent Trap_ -ed himself.”

Yunho shoots him a look.

“It’s a good movie,” Changmin snaps. “You like Lindsay Lohan, too.”

“No comment,” Yunho says, in time for Heechul-hyung to fully abandon his phone and sidle up to them. “You called?” he says, twiddling a finger in his slowly-growing and reddening hair. 

Yunho glares at him and he sobers, fading back into the background immediately. “Sorry—”

“Ten minutes,” Yunho says, eyeing the hotel front doors. “We should be sparse, for when they arrive.”

“Right,” Heechul-hyung says. He grabs Ara’s hand and tugs her upright. “Let’s go follow our host’s lover,” he tells her. “See what he does.” And then the two of them slink off after Isamu, who navigates through the hotel without pause.

 

* * *

 

Siwon-hyung and the rest of the entourage arrive to the hotel, and Changmin very suddenly finds himself stretched thin in preparation. They have to bug the conference rooms, their hotel rooms, the main ballroom where all of this is going down, and also avoid running into Kaito or any of his projections of said entourage. 

Siwon-hyung runs most of the interference, stopping in with Changmin and Yunho briefly to pick up his comms and then disappearing off to socialize with his family and company workers. 

Changmin gets to see firsthand just how bisexual Maeda Kaito actually might be, and has to excuse himself to laugh hysterically in the corner because clearly Kaito was not paying attention to what Siwon-hyung’s personal assistant looked like _at all_ in the thirty or so seconds when he met her before this. If Siwon-hyung wasn’t standing next to her nodding and listening to her dictate his life, Changmin would have thought she wasn’t Im Sooyeon. 

It only gets worse when he catches sight of the man who’s supposed to be Choi Kiho, and Yunho had to drag him around a corner so that Changmin can pull himself together enough to finish prepping for their hotel takeover. 

The conveniently and centrally placed art exhibit in the ballroom is exactly the safe display that Ara and Changmin planned out two months ago, and Changmin catches more than a few of Kaito’s projections eyeing the thing speculatively.

It’s a long shot, since the easiest way to do a full thief-style extraction is to dream the mark into a _bank_ , but Yunho had wanted it in the room, and Changmin hadn’t seen any reason they couldn’t make use of it. Any threatening they were planning to do when they took them all hostage wasn’t really going to be serious anyway. They were looking for information, not safeguarded riches, but if Kaito or his projections wanted to assume they were after the art exhibit in the ballroom, Changmin figured it would help sell them as insane terrorists bent on causing them harm.

Certainly they were planning on causing Kaito’s projection of Ayame harm—enough so that she’d hopefully cough up the information they were looking for: that she wanted her son to be happy, and that she approved of his relationship with Isamu.

Changmin supposes it’s a testament to how good they are that Kaito’s already supplied his own projection of Isamu, and when Heechul-hyung and Ara check in with Changmin a few moments later, it’s with the news that the two of them have run into each other.

“You should have seen his face,” Heechul-hyung says, as Ara and Yunho do frankly terrifying things with cameras in the hallway. 

Changmin’s keeping watch, one eye on all the escape routes, and one ear listening to Siwon-hyung tour the hotel with his father and Maeda Ayame. 

“He was getting in the elevator with Siwonnie—on his arm and everything—”

Changmin hums as needed, but can’t help but notice as Heechul-hyung’s tone goes cross at the mention of Kaito and Siwon-hyung.

“And just as the doors were closing Isamu rounded the corner doing who knows what,” Heechul-hyung finishes. “He waved and everything.”

Yunho looks up from his wiring. “Like the _Parent Trap_?” 

Changmin rolls his eyes down at him.

Yunho sticks out his tongue.

“Yeah,” Heechul-hyung says. “He really did _Parent Trap_ himself, Changdol-ah.”

Changmin allows the nickname with another eye roll.

“It was great,” Heechul-hyung finishes. “Obviously we’ve got to involve Isamu tonight.”

Yunho and Ara finish rigging the air vents and disappear the stuff into the wall of the hotel. 

“Clearly,” Yunho says, standing. 

Changmin reaches out a hand to steady him automatically. “We can take them all hostage.”

Heechul-hyung’s staring hard at Changmin’s hand on Yunho’s shoulder, but Changmin doesn’t so much as flinch. It’s risky enough fiddling with the dreamscape one level down, and there’s no way Changmin’s messing with it three levels deep. Heechul-hyung can just deal with it. 

“What?” Changmin says, letting go of Yunho once it’s clear the other man is stable. “Have you never seen a wedding ring before?”

Yunho shoots Changmin an odd look, but very quickly becomes distracted with the microphones Ara’s moved on to setting up. 

Heechul-hyung sputters between the three of them. “What? No,” he says. 

Changmin lifts a brow. “You haven’t? I’d have thought for sure you had, given your allergy to Siwon-hyung’s engagement.” 

“I mean yes,” Heechul-hyung continues, actually blushing. “You know what, fuck you,” he decides, and stalks off down the hall. “I’m going to keep trailing Isamu. Call me when it’s time.”

Changmin almost feels bad for being the cause of him leaving, but then he thinks about having to explain the silver around his finger and can’t be bothered.

Yunho and Ara finish with the electronics and stand again. “Come on,” Yunho says, taking Changmin’s hand and tugging him away. “We should go make sure the ballroom is ready—”

“There will be people there,” Changmin says, even as he’s squeezing Yunho’s hand back and keeping pace with him automatically.

He can hear Ara calling amusedly after them—“Uh… guys? Aren’t you forgetting something?”—but he can’t be bothered by that either.

Yunho’s far more important. 

“We’ll just be careful,” Yunho says, clearly trying for appeasing. “It’ll be good practice for you for forging,” he adds.

Changmin blinks at him.

“We wouldn’t want a repeat of 2008.” Yunho looks particularly amused. “Blond isn’t a good look for you.”

Changmin flushes. “Hyung!”

“Well,” Yunho says, also coloring. “I mean I guess it’s not so bad—”

Changmin has horrible, horrible déjà vu, but not quite. 

He swallows his response and gently extricates his hand from Yunho’s. “Yes,” he says, and between the next two steps, he’s a stranger. “What do you think?”

Yunho’s looking at him with an involuntary frown. “I hate it,” he says emphatically. “You shouldn’t be anyone but _you—_ ”

Changmin turns back into himself before Yunho can continue, embarrassed. “Yunho-hyung—”

“They really did leave me behind,” Ara says over their comms. “In case anyone is wondering.”

“I let Changmin run me out of the hallway out of _embarrassment_ ,” Heechul-hyung adds, also over the electronic connection.

“I think the hotel is lovely, Maeda-san,” Siwon-hyung says. 

Changmin closes his eyes and counts to ten. “Hyung and I are going to make sure the ballroom is ready,” he says. 

 

* * *

 

All things told, it’s about the easiest siege of a hotel that Changmin’s ever had the fortune of planning and carrying out. An hour and a half into the meeting, Siwon-hyung is starting to look ready to go to sleep, and only his not-father kicking his chair seems to be preventing that.

Ayame invited Isamu to attend the meeting as some sort of sadistic mind-game with her son, and so Kaito has spent the entire meeting staring unwaveringly at his ex-boyfriend, who keeps his gaze forward and fixed on the random speaker that Kaito’s dreamed up for this meeting the entire time.

Changmin’s not about to question what the meeting even is, since it seems to be some sort of bastardization between a work conference and a board meeting, but it’s Kaito’s dream and Changmin’s really only here to facilitate inception; nothing more.

Sure, he thinks the speaker is supposed to be speaking English and she’s _not_ , but that’s fine.

Changmin circles the ballroom with Heechul-hyung, making sure all the exits are sealed shut. Then he meets Yunho’s eyes and nods.

“Nobody move!” Ara announces, gun held in the air. She fires a few pointless, fear-mongering shots towards the ceiling, and everybody moves. 

The part of Changmin that’s always wanted to be Rambo is practically creaming himself at the prospect, but he pulls his mask down over his eyes and does his best to look intimidating and like hired muscle. 

“Right,” Ara says, once everyone has realized that they may not be outnumbered, but they are very much outgunned and out classed. “That’s more like it.”

Changmin notes gleefully that while Siwon-hyung’s ended up next to Kaito and Ayame totally on purpose, Isamu has done the same totally unconsciously. He’s not certain if that means Isamu’s embarrassingly in love with Kaito, or if _Kaito_ thinks Isamu is embarrassingly in love with Kaito.

Both are good.

Changmin grins.

 

* * *

 

The next two hours pass so slowly it feels like pulling teeth.

They have to make the show good, and that unfortunately means dragging out meaningless projections and interrogating them about Honda Naoki until the numbers in the ballroom are less than the numbers outside the ballroom. Unfortunately, most of these people aren’t even involved in the Proculus-Boryung merger.

Changmin recognizes the couple from the train station in Osaka on level one; Yunho recognizes a woman he sat next to on the bus on level two when they were playing house in the week that never was; Ara points out a couple of girls who she ran into in Osaka on level one in the train station; Heechul-hyung finds Furukawa Toshio and Changmin cannot stop laughing the entire time they’re supposed to be roughing him up.

It’s a dream, and they’re dream thieves, so all the projections they’re done with get a shot to the head and left in hotel rooms, but it’s a dream and they’re _prepared_ dream thieves, so the rest of the hotel staff are none the wiser of the elaborate hostage situation going down in their main ballroom. Mostly because they are also knocked out and half in hotel rooms. Not all of them, because the hotel was fucking huge and the staff were like fucking lemmings, but enough of the ones working around the ballroom, which Ara very helpfully placed on the fifth floor instead of the ground floor. Kaito and Isamu’s rooms are all on the twenty-sixth floor, but Ara’s put a shortcut into the elevator so that the emergency exit button ensures the next floor up is the twenty-sixth. Getting the projections out of the ballroom and then up onto the correct floor is a breeze.  

They rigged all the exits to the hotel with explosives and Ara hadn’t dreamed much of anything beyond this hotel and a conveniently placed LaGuardia airport, but eventually Kaito is going to think in passing that the cops and hostage negotiators ought to be involved, and they’ll arrive and cause problems. 

Until then Changmin is content to use a silencer on his weapon and grin creepily from behind Yunho’s shoulder. He isn’t really fond of executing sobbing prisoners, but even he has to admit there’s something pleasing about getting to shoot Siwon-hyung’s father in the face. Especially when he focuses on the fact that the man’s decision to sell his son off for money is the reason they’re all here in the first place. And also, the man doesn’t even try to beg or cry, not even when they start threatening to bring his son out next.

By the time they’ve passed the necessary amount of time to justify letting Kaito and Isamu escape, Changmin’s arms almost hurt from hefting dead bodies into empty hotel rooms.

Ara comes and gets him when it’s time, looking far too happy with the situation. “Changmin-oppa,” she says, watching as Changmin rolls the final corpse onto the bed and shuts the door, keycard getting cut neatly in two and disposed of in the disappearing trash can he keeps dreaming up as he goes. 

“Hmm?” Changmin says, turning to regard Ara.

“Yunho-oppa says we’re ready,” Ara says.

Changmin has to remind himself that she calls Yunho ‘oppa’ regardless of whether they’re playing lovers on some sort of elaborate revenge heist. The two of them have kissed all of two times, and only for Kaito and Ayame’s benefit; to really sell Ara as Honda Naoki’s long lost niece, and Yunho as the loving man who went batshit alongside her and offered to help her hold a ballroom hostage in search of her uncle’s wedding ring. 

They weren’t even really kisses.

More like pecks.

Changmin still really wants to shoot Ara in the head and dispose of _her body_ in a hotel room.

“Changmin-oppa?” Ara’s got her head tilted to one side.

Changmin sobers. “Right, yes,” he says, dusting imaginary lint from his clothes, and pulling the ski mask down over his features. “Yes, okay.”

Then he follows her into the elevator, back down into the ballroom, and proceeds to help her make the biggest, most elaborate scene yet. They drag Ayame’s personal assistant away from her to be disposed of next, having gotten through most of the unnecessary projections, leaving Siwon-hyung, the fake Sooyeon-noona, Ayame, Ayame’s personal assistant, and a few nervous-looking Proculus and Boryung staff who look very much like they regret accepting the overtime to work this merger meeting. 

Ayame’s personal assistant is probably the closest thing Ayame has to a friend, and Kaito really has held no punches in conceiving of him. 

Ayame does not handle them taking him well at _all_ , especially once he starts shouting ‘chairwoman!’ at the top of his lungs. It’s all very pedestrian—very anime. 

Still, it takes all of Changmin’s concentration not to shoot Kaito and Isamu in the feet when he notices the two of them attempting to slip by him and Heechul-hyung as they guard the door, but  Ayame’s PA is certainly doing her best to scream for his life and like the rest of the hotel is going to hear them, so he thinks he can let it slide. It is the plan, after all.

“Shh,” he tells the man, giving him a shake that dissolves him into what seems like unavoidable sobs. Changmin’s just glad he’s stopped screaming. 

He catches Kaito looking back towards Siwon-hyung briefly as he walks, but Siwon-hyung is too busy trying to console Ayame to notice.

Isamu grabs Kaito by the hand and tugs, and then the two of them are out the door and gone.

Changmin exchanges a look with Heechul-hyung, before gesturing towards the door. Heechul-hyung nods, releasing Ayame’s PA and leaving him in Changmin’s grip only, making like he’s checking the situation outside the ballroom. 

“Walk,” Changmin tells the man briskly, before glancing back towards Yunho this time. 

Yunho moves to follow them soundlessly, pausing only when Ara moves closer to him and goes up on her tiptoes. She gives him a goodbye kiss that makes Changmin really want to switch prisoners but waves them sunnily out of the room.

They’re all silent on their way to the elevator, gun held on the man’s back, and Yunho’s mouth flushed and swollen from the kiss.

Changmin stares at their reflection in the mirrored walls in front of them and wonders how the heck he got here. 

Ayame’s personal assistant cries almost silently the full two floors up, where he catches sight of the few bodies that Changmin hadn’t finished disposing of, and sobs even harder.

Changmin shoots him an annoyed look, fully aware that he’s not going to give them anything of importance. They should probably just knock him out and send him back to Ayame. That ought to speed things up, and certainly give Ayame the necessary information to figure out what’s going on. At the same time, Changmin doesn’t think he and Yunho can afford not to take their time.

Or at least act like they are.

“Yah,” he says, hefting the gun threateningly to get Ayame’s PA to stop sobbing so obviously. “Stop crying.”

The man stares at him like he can’t quite believe him, and Changmin gets it. He can’t let it go, though. 

“What do you know about Honda Naoki?” Changmin says, and this time, unlike the rest of Kaito’s projections, Ayame’s PA definitely knows the name.

Changmin can’t quite help but grin at that, since he knows as well as Yunho that the only reason that’s the case is their inception is _working_ , since Kaito might be able to forge his mother’s dearest friend down to the bespoke Hermes suit, but no way he could figure that the man knew anything about his mother’s secret lost love. 

Yunho steps on Changmin’s foot, which is probably Changmin’s cue to stop smiling quite so creepily. 

“No,” Ayame’s PA says stubbornly. “I’ve never heard that name in my life.”

Yunho steps off Changmin’s foot, which lets Changmin know he should continue to smile creepily. He can’t help but stare at Yunho though, avoiding the flush of his mouth with practice. They’re not really going to torture this man, are they? That seems pointless. Especially since they already know far more about Honda Naoki than he does.

As if sensing the silent conversation happening around him, Ayame’s PA puts up both hands. “I mean I do,” he says desperately. “He was, uh, in high school with Ayame-san.” 

Changmin shoots him a look, surprised that Kaito’s retained so much information from just looking at a yearbook a level up, but then, he supposes it’s not like they haven’t been seeding the information as early as level one. 

He lifts the gun.

Ayame’s PA shuts his eyes. “That’s all I know!” he continues, both hands in the air. “I swear—I don’t know anything else.”

Changmin lowers his gun. “You know what?” he says.

Ayame’s PA risks opening one eye.

“I believe you,” Changmin says, and then he raps the butt of the gun against the man’s temple.

He goes down like a sack of potatoes, which Yunho eyes distastefully. “You couldn’t have just shot him?” he says reproachfully.

Changmin really wants to kiss him to prove a point, but somehow he manages not to do so. Instead, he pulls the ski mask off his face and glares at him. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “ _That_ would have been pointless.”

Yunho sighs, but the way he helps Changmin gather the man in his arms proves he sees Changmin’s point. “Okay, I get it—returning a hostage allows the remaining hostages to figure out more about what’s going on—”

“Just Ayame,” Changmin corrects, groaning as they manage to get in the elevator for the second time, and press the button for the fifth floor. “We just need Ayame to figure it out—”

“We need Kaito to figure it out, also,” Yunho interjects, wiping the sweat on his brow, and then rubbing the sweat that’s gotten in his mouth.

This time Changmin does kiss him, unable to help himself, hitting the button for all the floors between theirs and the ballroom to draw the entire experience out, and then hitting the doors open button to drag it out further. 

Yunho kisses him back, eyes falling shut like they didn’t when Ara kissed him, and sighing into Changmin’s mouth like they’re in a hotel in New York on vacation, not pulling off an elaborate mind heist. “Lovely as this is, Changdol-ah, it’s not helping Kaito figure it out,” Yunho tells Changmin’s tongue.

Changmin considers ignoring reason, but then pulls back and takes out his phone. He hits a few buttons, then tilts the screen towards Yunho.

Kaito and Isamu have arrived at their hotel room and have successfully gone through Ayame’s suitcase in search of Kaito’s passport and wallet, arguing audibly amongst themselves about the easiest way to get out of there. 

Isamu keeps insisting on getting the cops involved and Kaito keeps insisting on getting his mother and fiancé out before doing so because he’s not risking it, which leads to Isamu arguing with Kaito about the fact that he’s got a _fiancé_ , and then seems to devolve into the two of them staring at each other very hard in a way that the week that was really four days on level two has conditioned Changmin to believe prefaces a make out session.

Sure enough, as he and Yunho watch on the phone screen, Kaito and Isamu end up pressed together over top the suitcases, the words “This is—so—not—the time—” audible to the two of them because of the extensive microphones that Siwon-hyung put in the hotel room.

“Huh,” Yunho says, watching the two of them break apart suddenly and refuse to meet each other’s eyes. “Who knew that kissing was the key to finding out that your mother had a long lost love?”

Changmin had been nodding along with that conversation, shifting Ayame’s PA around so that the man was better balanced hanging off his shoulders, but he looks up at the end of Yunho’s sentence. “What?”

Yunho tilts the screen so that Changmin can see how Kaito and Isamu have unearthed the yearbook that Siwon-hyung gleefully reported had shown up in Ayame’s luggage _unprompted_. 

“Huh,” he says, mirroring Yunho. “Who knew.”

The hotel doors ding open the final time, and Yunho and Changmin remask and shuffle forward with Ayame’s PA, unbothered by the rest of the hotel.

“Kyumacin is really great,” Changmin says, as they pass a pile of the hotel workers, sleeping off their drugging. “Very versatile. Extremely effective.” 

Yunho snorts but shoves his head up against Changmin’s before they have to put their game faces on. “Never change, Changminnie,” he says, and it’s sort of what he was saying earlier when Changmin was fooling around with forges, but somehow more. 

Not déjà vu, but enough to make Changmin’s heart ache and the ring around his finger feel suddenly heavy.

He kicks open the doors and helps Yunho shove Ayame’s PA towards her.

Siwon-hyung rushes forward to grab the man, eyes darting nervously around the room like the perfect hostage.

Heechul-hyung and Ara come to meet Yunho and Changmin immediately, Changmin being left busy with Ayame and her PA, listening with half an ear as the woman starts calling his name quietly, and Siwon-hyung keeps trying to get her to stop. She’s got a bruise forming on one cheekbone that wasn’t there before, and Changmin frowns.

“We’ve lost two of them,” Ara explains to Yunho, mouth twisting. “ _That woman_ tried to distract me.” She pauses for effect. “I let her know that was unacceptable.”

Siwon-hyung makes an aborted noise of displeasure and clenches his hands into fists.

Changmin watches as Ayame puts a hand over his. Together, they lay her PA out on the floor, still dead to the world.

Changmin turns his attention back towards Ara and Yunho.

“We’re running out of time,” Ara says. “We should take _that woman_.”

Yunho’s mouth turns down, all the more noticeable because the rest of him is covered up. “It’s too soon,” he says in his hostage taking voice, which is apparently similar to his leader voice, and also his ‘how dare you stay out past midnight, young lady’ voice.

Changmin’s fingers clench and unclench on his gun. 

“Right,” Heechul-hyung says, lifting his own weapon and striding towards Siwon-hyung and Ayame. He looks between the two of them consideringly, eyes lighting on Siwon-hyung’s businessman dress pants and dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. “Get up.” He gestures with the gun, and Siwon-hyung stands with his hands held palm out, slow and without looking away from Heechul-hyung. “Turn around.” 

Siwon-hyung turns, still slowly, and Heechul-hyung steps in close so that he can hook his chin around the man’s shoulder and rest his gun against the man’s temple. “Walk,” he says.

Ayame shouting out for him is unexpected, but exactly the excuse that Ara’s character would be waiting for, and in no time at all Changmin finds himself with the incredibly daunting task of walking the woman out of the ballroom. He hears Yunho and Ara arguing about leaving the remaining hostages unguarded, and then the thud of bodies hitting the ground—which makes Ayame and Siwon-hyung wince as they cross the threshold.

This time they ride the elevator all the way to Kaito and Ayame’s floor, but Ayame is far too busy being poised to notice.

Changmin’s glad.

He’d hate to ruin the surprise. 

After that it’s relatively straightforward. They’ve timed it so that Kaito and Isamu come out of the hotel room in time for Ara to rip her mask off and proclaim herself Honda Naoki’s long lost niece, and for Siwon-hyung to turn the gun on Heechul-hyung and free himself and Ayame.

Kaito and Isamu reach them in no time at all, Kaito shouting for his mother, Ayame putting herself between Kaito and the rest of them, and Ara snarling down the barrel of the Siwon-hyung’s gun like the madwoman she’s pretending to be. 

Even though this is the plan, Changmin still finds himself inching his way in between Yunho and Siwon-hyung. 

“Don’t move!” Siwon-hyung is shouting, gun waving frantically around at the rest of them.

Changmin and Yunho keep their hands on their own weapons, but Ara and Heechul-hyung are unfortunately left hanging since Ara decided her character wouldn’t have a weapon, and Heechul-hyung decided he’d take one for the team and let Siwon-hyung disarm him. 

They both put their hands up, clearly only humoring them.

“Honda Naoki,” Ayame says finally, after the stand-still becomes uncomfortable. “You’re Honda Naoki’s daughter.”

“Niece,” Ara spits. “Uncle died before he could have children.”

Ayame visibly flinches. 

Kaito’s looking between the two of them with a frown. “Mom?”

Ayame puts a hand on him, her entire body shielding him from harm. They’re circling each other, fully aware that the elevator is the only way to safety, and at present it’s behind Changmin and Co.’s back. 

“I’m actually looking for something of his,” Ara continues, kicking off her shoes in a move that Changmin finds frankly horrifying. “A ring.”

Ayame flinches again, but Kaito’s frowning some more. “Mom?”

“Be quiet, Kaito,” Ayame rushes out, voice frail. “Just. Be quiet.”

Kaito is wisely silent.

Ara’s attention stays on Ayame. “An engagement ring,” she says. “You might know it. He bought it with his savings when he was planning to propose to the girl of his dreams.”

And this time Ayame physically recoils, eyes going shut. 

Ara takes advantage of that to stalk forward, socked feet near silent on the floor.

Changmin had teased her ceaselessly when she decided Honda Naoki’s niece was going to instigate an old school catfight, but now he gets it. It’s straight out of a horror movie.

Siwon-hyung flutters the gun nervously between Ara and Changmin like he can’t decide who is the bigger threat. When he settles on Ara, Changmin has to agree. 

“A funny thing happened, though,” Ara continues. “Turns out that girl was a rich bitch.”

The words hit their intended mark, Ayame’s eyes closing once more and her hands starting to shake.

“And she turned him down,” Ara goes on. “But she kept the ring, of course.” Ara starts to pace, and Changmin falls back so that he can better shadow her.

Yunho steps forward so that he’s level with her, drawing Ayame’s attention for all of a second.

Changmin’s stomach knots. “Hyung—” he starts to say.

“Never mind that it wasn’t worth anything,” Ara is saying, circling closer to the still frozen Ayame. “Never mind that to her it was chump change.”

Ayame’s breathing is coming in short bursts. 

“That _rich bitch_ broke my uncle’s heart.”

Ayame’s eyes flutter open, wet and pained.

“And then she had the gall to keep the ring,” Ara finishes. “I’d like it back, now.” She pauses for emphasis. “Bitch.”

The entire thing takes all of five seconds.

Siwon-hyung’s grip on the gun hadn’t been all that great to begin with because he was acting, Changmin’s too far away to do anything because he’s a cautious idiot, Yunho’s too close to save himself because he’s a self-sacrificing idiot, Maeda Ayame, it turns out, is far more capable and deadly than they’d all assumed.

In five seconds she gets her hands on the gun in Siwon-hyung’s hand, has Ara knocked to the ground with the butt of it, and has shot Yunho straight through the chest before he can do anything about it.

It takes everything in Changmin not to put an answering bullet in between her eyes. He settles for getting her in the stomach, the last minute twitch of his fingers making it more of a graze than a flesh wound, but enough to have blood blooming under her dress shirt and Kaito crying out. 

“Mom!”

“Do not move,” Ayame says, ignoring how she’s bleeding, gun still trained on Yunho with a kind of single-mindedness that makes Changmin wonder how it was she picked out that out of all of them, Yunho was the one Changmin would die for. Would put down his gun for. Would raise both his hands and back away, for, heart in his throat, watching the blood bubble out of Yunho’s chest as Ayame herded her group around them and towards the elevator. 

Logically, Changmin should be grateful at least one of them is thinking on their feet, because it’s only thanks to Heechul-hyung that they don’t lose Siwon-hyung. The man grabs Siwon-hyung by the arm as he goes past, and the expression on Ayame’s face as she picks and chooses her battles is one that Changmin thinks is going to stick with him. 

They wait for the elevator to move down a floor for one agonizing second before they’re all moving, Siwon-hyung rushing forward to make sure Ara’s okay where she’s sitting on the floor dizzily, and Changmin and Heechul-hyung nearly colliding in their quest to get to Yunho.

“Ow,” Yunho says, one hand pressed to the wound on his chest, and slowly sinking to the floor, clearly in pain. “Changmin—”

“Shh, shh, shh,” Changmin says, grabbing him by the arms and hovering, not sure what to do. Where to put pressure. Who to call. “Shh, shh.”

Yunho blinks at him. “I’m not saying anything,” he slurs. “Why’re you—”

“Shh,” Changmin says again, hands sliding through the blood in his quest to put pressure on the wound. “Don’t talk—”

“Shushing me,” Yunho finishes up against Changmin’s fingers. He gets blood on his lips, red in the shape of Changmin’s fingerprints like some sort of romantic horror story. 

Heechul-hyung strips out of his shirt and starts to rip it into strips.

Ara waves off Siwon-hyung, who comes over and pops all the buttons on Yunho’s shirt as he pulls it open.

The bullet hasn’t gone straight through. It’s still in Yunho, and Changmin can’t breathe.

“Fuck,” Siwon-hyung curses. “Yunho-hyung—”

“Ara-yah,” Yunho slurs out, batting both Siwon-hyung and Changmin away. “What’re they saying?”

Ara looks at Yunho with tears in her eyes but gets shakingly to her feet. “What, Oppa?”

“Ayame,” Yunho manages. “What are they saying?” 

Changmin pulls the phone out of his pocket and throws it on the ground between them, fingers biting into Yunho’s biceps as the man’s strength gives again, trying to sink down further to the ground. “Fuck,” Changmin swears, tugging him upright. “No. Yunho-hyung.”

“Ara-yah.”

Ara fumbles the phone right-side-up and unlocks it, pulling up the video and audio feed of the elevator, which thankfully is taking forever to get down to the ground floor.

“Lemme see,” Yunho says, twisting away from where Heechul-hyung and Siwon-hyung have given up on finding the bullet and are instead trying to wrap his chest with whatever is on hand until they can get him to a hospital or something.

Changmin doesn’t know if anyone’s thought to dream of a hospital on this level.

Changmin doesn’t know what will happen if Yunho has to kick awake with a chest wound.

Changmin doesn’t know if Yunho will make it the full eleven hours until their kick back to level one.

In the elevator, Ayame’s wound is proving to be just as fatal, and Changmin has a vindictive little moment of Schadenfreude, which is rapidly swallowed up by fear for Yunho.

He knows very well what happens when people die this deep in dreams, and with a sedative. 

“Mom,” Kaito’s voice comes, even as Ayame is pulling open her shirt and pulling out a chain around her neck. She tugs, Naoki’s ring breaking the chain with the ease only found in movies and dreams.

“Here,” she says, holding the ring out to Kaito with blood covering her fingers.

Changmin would almost be impressed, if Yunho wasn’t bleeding out in front of him simultaneously. 

“Mom?” Kaito sounds like a child, and Isamu has given up on putting pressure on Ayame’s wound and has instead moved to try to call for help using the elevator phone.

“Isamu,” Ayame’s voice comes out in a rasp. 

Changmin can’t help but lean in to watch as Kaito’s ex darts around into frame and sinks to his knees in front of her.

“You are—a good person,” Ayame says, in an eerie parody of what Qian had said on level two. 

Isamu’s eyes go wide. “Maeda-san,” he says.

“Okaa-san,” Ayame corrects, pressing the ring into his hands, and then her eyes fall shut.

Changmin is finding it very hard to breathe. 

In the elevator, Kaito and Isamu have collapsed around Ayame in tears, and the doors spring open to reveal paramedics and cops. 

Changmin thinks for a second that they really need to get out of here, shed their fake skins and identities and play bystanders for the next eleven hours until it’s time for them to kick awake, but very quickly Changmin realizes that none of them are wearing forges anymore. 

A glance reveals that the wall with the elevators is blank now, Ara’s failsafe working perfectly. This hotel no longer has this floor, and that’s meant to give them enough time to get safe and ready to play victim. Kaito and Ayame’s things have been shifted down a floor, none the wiser. 

It’s all gone perfectly to plan. 

“It worked,” Heechul-hyung says finally, into the silence of the hallway. “It. It worked.”

He lets go of Yunho to put his hands on Siwon-hyung’s shoulders, and they’re bloody but Siwon-hyung doesn’t care. 

Heechul-hyung gives him a shake, and Siwon-hyung breathes deeply into it, shocked and half laughing like he can’t believe it.

“It fucking _worked_ ,” says Heechul-hyung, at the same time Yunho’s legs really give out, and Changmin goes down with him.

“Fuck! Yunho-hyung!” he shouts, as he goes, pulling desperately so that he can see Yunho’s face. “Yunho-hyung!”

Yunho’s eyes are going filmy, and his breaths are short and staccato. 

“Yunho-yah!” Changmin tries, throat trying and failing to make more words. He puts both hands on Yunho’s cheeks to feel him breathe, and then slaps him not at all gently. “Yunho-yah!”

Yunho blinks up at him, not at all seeing, and mumbles out, a “Changdol-ah,” that’s near unintelligible over the blood bubbling up between his lips.

Changmin’s feels a sob start in the mess that must be his heart. “Yunho-yah,” he says again. “Yunho-hyung. Hyung. You can’t. You can’t.” He can’t finish, can’t watch Yunho shut his eyes for the final time, his chest stopping abruptly and his hands going weightless at his sides.

Siwon-hyung and Heechul-hyung seem to come out of suspended animation.

Heechul-hyung strides across the hall and slams a fist through the wall, cursing, but Siwon-hyung doesn’t move.

Ara doesn’t move.

Changmin, still clutching Yunho’s still-warm dead body, doesn’t move.

Heechul-hyung moves back into view, grabs Yunho and holds him like it’s a real death and not a dream death, pressing his face close to Yunho’s and kissing him on the forehead almost angrily. “Fuck, Yurobbong,” he says, voice a rasp and a mere hiss.

Changmin watches this with a sort of detached mindlessness, not entirely sure he’s all the way there. “Hyung,” he says.

Heechul-hyung kisses Yunho again, and then stands. “Fuck, Changdol.” He reaches for Changmin, trying to pull him standing. “The cops are here. We have to go.”

“The. Body,” says Ara, voice cracking in the middle.

“We’ll burn it,” Heechul-hyung says. “We have eleven hours—”

“Closer to ten now,” Siwon-hyung says helpfully. He’s moving nervously in the hall too, though, like they’re all ready to just leave Yunho behind.

Changmin can’t look away from him. “Ara-yah,” he says finally, because she’s safest. 

“Yes, Oppa?” Ara says. Her voice is small. 

Changmin doesn’t look at her. “I need you to get me the PASIV.”

There’s a pause. 

“Oppa?” Ara manages.

Changmin lifts his head to look at her. “Now, Ara-yah,” he snarls.

Whatever is in his face has Ara darting for their room, keycard sliding out of her sleeve automatically since this is her level, her dream.

“What—” Siwon-hyung starts to say, at the same time Heechul-hyung drops down onto his knees in front of Changmin. 

“Changdol what are you doing?” the man says.

Changmin stares back at him not seeing, already calculating the amount of time left on the PASIV back up on reality, figuring out how long he’ll have to live until the sedative is safely out of their system. 

“Changdol,” Heechul-hyung barks, as Ara slides back into view with the PASIV. 

“Here—” 

“It’s Changmin,” Changmin says, taking the device from Ara without thanking her. He knocks it open between them, frowning, and then thinks better of it. He stands, hating to let go of Yunho for even a moment, and then reaches down to pick both him and the PASIV up.

Yunho’s lighter than Changmin remembers. He hasn’t been eating. Too busy being nervous about the job. This fucking _job_. Changmin is suddenly so mad at Siwon-hyung it’s good he isn’t looking at him, as busy as he is hefting Yunho into his arms—it’s Yunho, just Yunho, only Yunho, not Yunho’s dead body, not Yunho’s dead anything, Yunho’s not _dead—_

“Changmin,” Heechul-hyung says. “What are you doing?”

Changmin turns towards Ara. “I need you to seal this room,” he says, pushing into their hotel room. It opens to him without asking for a keycard; perks of being a halfway decent architect. “I can’t ask you all to stay.”

“Um, okay,” Ara says. 

“Changmin _-ah_ ,” Heechul-hyung snarls. 

Changmin sets Yunho down on the hotel bed almost reverently, like if he pretends hard enough, he can imagine they’re just stumbling back from a drunk night out. He tugs off Yunho’s shoes, settles one hand on his chest, pulls his shirt as closed as possible. His left arm he leaves extended towards the center of the room, where he puts the PASIV. 

“What are you doing?” Heechul-hyung repeats, crossing angrily into Changmin’s line of sight and trying to wrestle the PASIV from him. “He’s _dead_.”

Suddenly Changmin wants to strangle the man, even though that would make things even worse. He settles for punching him in the face, grabbing the PASIV from him and sitting down on the other bed, eyes blazing. “Fuck _off_ ,” he snaps, wiping at the spit that’s gathered on his lips.

Heechul-hyung wipes at the blood gathering on his own. “He’s dead, Changmin-ah,” he says, barely a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

“He’s in _Limbo_ ,” Changmin corrects, pulling out two lines from the PASIV and unwinding them methodically. “He’s not _dead_.”

When he looks back up Heechul-hyung is staring at him with barely contained pain. “He’s as good as,” he says finally.

Changmin snarls at him.

“No, Chang—min.” Heechul-hyung breaks Changmin’s name in half like he was going to use a nickname to make things easier for him. “If he’s in Limbo, he’s as good as dead.”

Changmin shuts his eyes but sticks the needle into Yunho’s vein anyway.

“People don’t come back from Limbo,” Heechul-hyung says.

Changmin looks up at him with all the pain he’s been hiding since the bullet sunk into Yunho’s ribcage. “I did,” he says quietly.

Siwon-hyung makes an audible noise, gathered by the still open door watching them both with Ara at his side.

“We did,” Changmin continues, looking down at Yunho’s form almost fondly, before finding Heechul-hyung’s eyes again. “What?” he says. “You didn’t think I stopped working with Jaejoong over fucking _Crebeau Cosmetics_ , did you?” 

Heechul-hyung makes a broken, gasping noise, and then crosses towards the en suite bathroom. “I’m going to be sick,” he says.

Changmin doesn’t have time for him, kicking off his own shoes and leaning back on the hotel bed. After a moment, het gets up, lays down next to Yunho so that every inch of them is touching, and breathes. 

He checks his watch. It’s almost eight-forty now. They have nearly ten hours and twenty minutes left on this level. Who knows how long Yunho’s been alone on that fucking beach. 

He breathes. 

Siwon-hyung finally seems to find his voice and his ability to move. He steps into view. “Changmin-ah.” He’s hovering, hands worrying the fabric of his shirt. It’s got Yunho’s blood on it. They’ve all got Yunho’s blood on them, some of them more than most. 

Changmin can hear the sounds of Heechul-hyung’s guilt, listens to the heave of the man’s stomach as he thinks about the fact that Jaejoong, Yoochun, and Junsu didn’t just double cross Yunho and Changmin; Jaejoong, Yoochun, and Junsu left them for as good as dead in _Limbo_ , doomed to forget they were dreaming and destined to wake up braindead mush. 

Siwon-hyung is still hovering. “If you don’t come back—” 

 “Shut up,” Changmin says, shooting Ara one last look over Siwon-hyung’s shoulder. She nods, expression grim, but Changmin knows there won’t be a door here when the rest of them leave them. 

“If you don’t come back,” Siwon-hyung tries to say one more time.

Changmin stabs the needle under his skin, misses the vein, and hisses.

“If you don’t come back—”

“Look, if you’re not going to be any help, Siwon-hyung,” Changmin snaps, fiddling with the IV drip again so he doesn’t have to look at Yunho’s dead body. “You can go help Heechul-hyung.”

He doesn’t look over towards the en suite, but the sounds of Heechul-hyung retching taper off. 

On Changmin’s next pass with the needle, Siwon-hyung’s hand joins his. “Come back,” the man says, and presses the button.

 

* * *

 

Changmin sleeps.

 

* * *

 

Limbo is different but also the same.

 

* * *

 

Changmin wakes.

 

* * *

 

He finds Yunho on the beach, still wearing the bloodstained dress shirt, back to the sea. He can’t see the front of it, but he can tell that it’s still torn open and missing all the buttons. It works here, by the ocean. If it weren’t for the blood down the front and back of it, Changmin thinks Yunho would fit, here. 

The sky is crystalline blue. 

The air is unpolluted perfection. 

Changmin hacks his lungs out for what feels like days, dizzy and lightheaded and gasping for air. He stares at the slope of Yunho’s shoulders, watches the flash of Yunho’s earrings, drags himself upright.

He stumbles. 

“Hyung.”

Yunho doesn’t turn, just sits, and watches, and waits.

Changmin stops and leans his shadow over him. “Hyung.”

Yunho sighs and tilts to the side. The sun moves, shadows shifting. 

Changmin’s breath catches. 

Taehee is sitting beside Yunho, carefully ferrying salt-water from an oversized seashell into the moat of their sandcastle. She’s wearing a pretty, white sundress and closed-toe shoes, out of place for the beach, but typical for a dream. She’s got bows in her hair—periwinkle blue and fluttering in the breeze. She can’t be more than five, baby fat still clinging to her cheekbones, and not at all grown into her ears.

Changmin’s ears.

“Appa,” she says to Yunho, tone disapproving. 

Yunho moves and drops a handful of sand on the ground between them guiltily. He doesn’t speak. 

“Water first,” Taehee says. She pours.

Down the beach, her brother forms, poking at crabs with a stick. He’s dressed in matching white shorts and socks, a tiny sailor’s shirt with a scarf knotted around his neck. He’s got bracelets on both wrists—periwinkle blue.

Changmin swallows, finding his voice. “Yunho-hyung.”

Yunho doesn’t turn to look at him. “Why water first?”

“Because it’s a moat,” Taehee says, precocious like only a Shim can be. “Moats need water.” She lifts her head. “Dohyun-ah!”

Her brother looks up and comes running back, near tripping his haste. 

Changmin flinches. “Yunho-hyung,” he tries again. It’s all he can do. 

“They keep calling me ‘Appa,’” says Yunho. He sits back on his haunches and watches Taehee confer with Dohyun in that secret language that only twins have. He turns, tilts his head up to look at Changmin with blank, expressionless eyes. “Why do they call me ‘Appa,’ Changdol-ah?” 

Changmin’s breath whistles through his lungs like a knife through butter. “Hyung,” he says.

Yunho blinks. “How long were we in Limbo, Changdol-ah?”

“Fifty-years,” Changmin whispers.

Across the beach, their daughter—their gorgeous, grown-up, _adult_ daughter—shouts for her children. 

They turn, no longer Taehee and Dohyun, but Changmin hardly notices. He’s too busy watching Yunho. Beautiful, perfect, eighty-three-year-old Yunho, who sits kneeling in the sand at Changmin’s feet, and cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /tap dances away.
> 
> [Tumblr masterpost](https://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/185391613090/homin-fic-its-alright-even-if-you-hate-me) || [Twitter masterpost](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/1153814513428262914)


	8. Limbo | July 2018

The thing about Limbo is, Changmin doesn’t think they would have stayed if it weren’t for him. 

They washed up on the shore of their own subconscious and Yunho spat saltwater all over the sand, cursing, and Changmin was already calculating how many days they’d be stuck under waiting for the sedative to work its way out of their systems so they could shoot themselves awake. They’d only been on the second level of the dream for the planned twenty-four hours—one point two for Yoochun-hyung, waiting to pull all of them and the mark out—and then Changmin and Yunho had spent the next three hours running around the bank they’d set up shop in for the first level, cracking pointlessly enforced safes looking for Crebeau’s secrets.

Changmin’s brain hurt, mostly from the thrashing the sea gave him and definitely not the bullet between the eyes, but he was still able to work his way through a loose approximation of math. They had fifty-five hours left on the first level, which mean here—in Limbo—they had fifty _years_.

Changmin wished, not for the first time, that the salt-water had drowned them.

“Fuck,” he said, breaking the silence. His lungs felt sore and bedraggled, and there was seaweed clinging to the back of his neck.

A look to his left showed Yunho was no better off, wrestling with his own pieces of sea kelp and almost tripping on the shore.

Changmin stuck out a hand to steady him, heart pounding.

They moved up the beach, out of the lashing of the waves, angrily ditching their fancy outerwear the whole way. 

Changmin wondered briefly where the suit jackets and ties would go, but then busied himself keeping Yunho from going to the ground because of his waistcoat, this time. 

Yunho said, with particularly colorful swears, “Fucking backstabbing _fuckheads—_ I should have them run out of dreamshare _period_!” and then proceeded to throw his entire arsenal down on the beach—gun, second gun, knife, second knife, a strip of dynamite, matches—

The water had fucked up all the weaponry beyond repair, but this was a dream—this was _Limbo—_ so Yunho only had to scowl at them before they were shiny and brand new. He took them apart with a single-mindedness that Changmin couldn’t help but admire, even as the salt-water dripped in his eyes and made his nose burn.

A thought later, and Changmin was dry, bare feet sinking into the sand. 

“How long have we got?” Yunho said, two bullets into the barrel of his first gun, mouth a hard line. He was dry as well, but the wind didn’t seem to want to be kind to his hair. 

Changmin looked at him, fully aware that Yunho could do the math just as well as Changmin could. “Fifty years,” he said, because this was no time to mince words.

Yunho’s mouth thinned even more. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he swore a few more times, and then turned his gun on Changmin. 

“No, wait,” Changmin said, thinking fast. “We can’t use that.”

Yunho didn’t lower the gun, but he didn’t shoot.

Changmin thought briefly about Yoochun-hyung’s lectures about the dangers of using a sedative, and Jaejoong-hyung’s insistence on the clarity of dreams with them.

Then he scowled, annoyed he was thinking about his teammates—those—those fucking backstabbing _fuckheads—_ by name—and shook his head.

“We can’t kill ourselves awake,” he said again. “It doesn’t work that way.”

Yunho threw his gun on the sand next to the other weapons and swore some more. “You’re right,” he said when he was finished. “Fuck, you’re right.”

For once, Changmin didn’t exactly feel glad to be so. “We need height,” he decided. It wasn’t like the sedative was home grown—Yoo— _their chemist_ had bought it off another dream team in a poker game, but Changmin was fully aware of the limitations of the drug. They needed to throw themselves from somewhere very high; the stuff had no effect on inner ear function. 

Yunho’s jaw was starting to twitch, he was wound so tight. “Right,” he said. “Height.” And then he stuck a hand out—the movement jerky and uncoordinated—and made them a wall of sand. After a few seconds, he squinted, and the wall formed stairs. 

Changmin let him work his magic, perfectly aware that his own talents in architecture were not that much better, since Jun— _their architect_ did most of the building, and the military had been much more interested in Changmin’s ability to keep a dream stable than his ability to recreate falling water. He couldn’t quite help himself all the way, however, and added a railing so that Yunho’s stairs might not send them a level up too early. 

It was almost too easy, that railing.

Changmin only had to think with half his brain, barely had to scratch the surface of intention before the stairs were wooden, the wall, trying to be granite, and the slope of the staircase twisting like it wanted to spiral.

Yunho said, “Shit, Changminnie, what are you doing—come on—” and started to make like he was going to climb, and Changmin’s heart tried to get into his throat, he was suddenly so nervous.

He’d never had a fear of heights before. Maybe they could take an elevator.

“Shit, Changminnie,” Yunho said again, as the metalwork for such a structure groaned into being. “How are you doing this?”

Changmin watched the progress of his elevator with only half an eye, heart going a mile a minute for less than phobia now, and much more for the high of it. This was why he’d gotten into dreamshare in the first place. Why he’d let Yunho drag him away from the army chasing Jaejoong-hyung’s promises. 

Jaejoong-hyung.

Jaejoong.

Changmin’s stomach turned itself in knots. 

The elevator groaned, unhappy with Changmin’s suddenly livid thoughts.

“Changminnie?” Yunho was looking at Changmin now, with a furrow in his brow.

Changmin did his best to smile back. “Hyung,” he said finally, when the elevator was finished, complete with working electricity even though they were on a fucking beach. “It’s—it’s so easy—here.” His sentence broke in half, words almost stumbling, but somehow he managed to smile. “Building,” he said. “Dreaming.”

Yunho looked at him for what felt like hours, but after a moment’s pause, he turned his attention to the elevator. It opened, doors ringing, and suddenly the floor was a garden, vines making patterns in the mirrored walls within. 

Yunho’s lips parted.

He turned his attention to the abandoned staircase, letting it spiral since it clearly wanted to, and the wall started to stretch so that it touched the ocean, wave lapping at the stones. Changmin didn’t know how that made any sense—a spiral staircase up a stone wall—but this was a dream, so it didn’t matter.

Things didn’t have to make sense in dreams.

“How long have we got?” Yunho said again, not looking at Changmin. Instead he was watching his wall, twisting it so that it was running parallel to the ocean instead, and Changmin squinted.

“Is this—” he said, leaning in to look at the stonework. It wasn’t just a wall anymore—more like a _bridge_ , and Changmin only had to look at the lampposts to realize he recognized it. “Pont Neuf?” Changmin got out, voice catching.

He and Yunho had only been to Paris once, and that was in a dream. 

Yunho didn’t say anything. When Changmin looked at him, the other man was blushing. “I liked Paris,” he managed.

Changmin found it hard to breathe, looking at the expanse of the bridge, and stepping rather quickly onto it when it started to raise.

Yunho followed him, the abandoned trappings of their elevator fading away into sand as the memory overtook them.

“We—” Changmin said, unable to get his heart to stop pounding. “We’re not supposed to build from memory.”

Yunho stood so close to him Changmin could feel the heat of him. “This isn’t a real memory,” he said.

Changmin wanted to slap him.

“It’s not a memory of reality,” Yunho amended, swallowing as the Eiffel Tower formed in the ocean in front of them. “And it’s not a very good memory of reality,” he added, gesturing.

Changmin fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, well,” he said, turning and walking along the rapidly forming Pont Neuf. “We’ve been here before.”

It was all he could do to keep his hair brown. To keep it short. The air was changing around them, the landscape around them changing from beach to Paris, France right before their eyes, and the air was enough to make Changmin sentimental. They’d gone to Paris with a superior in 2008, the first year Changmin was no more than a glorified errand boy, blackmailed into serving his country after Kyuhyun hacked Project Somnacin.

Their superior was the one who’d been to Paris, and it was one of the first times they figured out dreaming reality wasn’t the best idea. Of course, Changmin figured it could have just been the man’s attention to detail, stopping them every three feet to inspect the quality of his dream-built cobblestones, until Changmin’s projections had enough of him meddling with things and drowned them all in the Seine. 

Yunho grabbed his hand. “Look,” he said, pointing. “That’s the Arc de Triomphe.”

Changmin blinked, certain that this wasn’t accurate French geography, but unable to help himself. “Yeah,” he said, eyeing the structure. “That… is… Yunho-hyung.”

Yunho let go of his hand, stepping towards the archway with a grin. “And here,” he said, poking at a spot on the ground with his toe. “This is the pothole where you tripped—you had that god-awful mullet—”

“Please! Can we not remember the mullet!” Changmin burst out, cheeks on fire. 

“I thought it was cute,” Yunho said, eyes sparkling. “You looked good blond.”

Changmin wanted the ground to swallow him whole, but given the surrealness of the entire experience, he did his best not to think that too literally. He wouldn’t want to end up actually underground. 

“I thought it was cute how you followed Heechul-hyung around,” Yunho finished, still stuck on the embarrassing hairstyle.

Changmin tried not to bite his lip raw. “Yes, well—”

“Anyway, you were cute,” Yunho said. “You used to trip over your own feet all the time, though,” he added, still looking at the cobblestones beside the Arc de Triomphe.  “Like here.” He ran his foot over the spot for a second time, expression going fond.

For some reason Changmin thought the sun ought to be going down, memories of the experience sort of secondary to the fact that after they’d seen the sights of Paris they’d all ended up _drowned_. 

“You tripped on literally nothing, and Hyukjae pushed you, and I—” Yunho broke off suddenly, blushing, and it was like he couldn’t bear to look at Changmin.

Changmin’s heart started going so fast he was worried for his body up in reality, but he stepped even closer. “You what, Hyung?” he said, more breathing than speaking. 

Yunho still wasn’t meeting his eyes, looking everywhere else, it seemed, and picking at his own thumbnails so hard it had to hurt. 

Changmin caught him by the wrists, stilling him. “You what, Hyung?” he said again.

“I wanted to kiss you,” Yunho whispered, and Changmin’s throat closed up so fast his head spun.

“Yunho-hyung,” he said, because there was nothing else to say. 

It had gone dark, the sky bending to their will because they were like gods down here, alone on the shores of their own subconscious with no one around to judge them. The stars were out, because Changmin had always remembered Paris as above pollution, too prim and proper for things like coal power plants and CO2 emissions. 

They were alone, but they wouldn’t always be.

Already Changmin could feel the itch of projections hovering in the corners of his thoughts, passing faces he would never remember seeing waiting to be born into this little slice of Paris, France he and Yunho had built.

Yunho flushed even harder and tried to take his hands away from Changmin. “But you were just a kid in college following his dreams—literally,” he said in a rush. “And I was a kid who should have gone to college but ended up stealing secrets instead.”

Changmin frowned. “You were good at the army,” he said.

Yunho shrugged, seemingly giving up on getting his hands back. “I was good at listening to others,” he corrected.

Changmin kept frowning. “No. You were a leader—”

Yunho somehow got a hand free to put a finger to Changmin’s lips. “It’s alright, Changdol-ah,” he said. “If Jaejoong wants to be the extractor, it’s fine. I can forge halfway decently.”

Changmin frowned harder, hating to think of their former frie— _former teammates_. What must they be doing, in reality? Had they realized this was Crebeau’s goal? Who would find their bodies, when Yunho and Changmin waited out the fifty years long enough to kill themselves awake? 

The room was paid out for the entire night.

They’d put the Do Not Disturb sign on before they’d taken Crebeau’s president under.

It would be lifetimes before anyone came looking for them.

Changmin swallowed. 

“Anyway, you hated me,” Yunho was saying, fingers tracing the veins of Changmin’s wrist now.

Changmin didn’t know how they’d switched places—Yunho holding both Changmin’s hands, Yunho reminiscing fondly like he hadn’t just blown Changmin’s world open with five words.

He twisted his hands, trapping Yunho’s in his own immediately. “Yunho-hyung,” he said, interrupting Yunho’s tirade about his fucking hair. “I don’t hate you, now.”

Yunho’s mouth fell shut with an audible click.

“I’m not a kid now,” Changmin added. “I—” His throat felt clogged. “I left Somancin for you—”

Yunho kissed him, stepped in close so that their toes banged together and tilted too far to the side so that their noses didn’t knock together. 

Changmin gasped, unable to help himself, but kissed him back.

He wondered briefly if this would have happened, were they not trapped on the shores of their own poor decisions and choices in friends. He wondered briefly how things would be when they got out of here. If they would go back to being just friends, in reality, after they’d finished hunting down their poor choices and put them in the ground. 

He wondered if Yunho would taste like strawberries in reality.

Then he didn’t wonder about anything else at all, too busy trying to climb so deep inside Yunho that they’d end up one person, by the time they lived out the next fifty years.

 

* * *

 

Sex in dreams was different. Slower, somehow, but faster at the same time. Exciting. Mind boggling.

Maybe that was just because it was Limbo.

Changmin wondered why they’d ended up on the beach again, worried for all of two seconds that they’d somehow destroyed Paris, but all that very quickly became secondary to the dart of Yunho’s tongue in Changmin’s mouth and the drag of Yunho’s tongue down Changmin’s neck.

The moon was out again, since apparently night was okay for sex with Yunho-hyung, and it was so bright that it had to be something out of a movie, or a dream. It bathed Yunho in light that was more golden than sunlight, and Changmin decided he’d have to use all of his skills to keep Yunho from remembering this in reality.

“Don’t say anything,” he said, in between kisses, as Yunho flicked laughing eyes upwards and took in the state of the sky.

“Changminnie, you’re a romantic,” Yunho replied, and set about undoing the buttons on Changmin’s dress shirt. 

Changmin arched up to help him, deciding that since this was Limbo, Yunho could just dream himself a full new wardrobe. He ripped Yunho’s shirt off, delighting in the sound of the buttons bouncing everywhere. 

Yunho froze, eyes going dark like Changmin’s pointless show of strength was actually hot, or something, and stared down at him for so long Changmin worried.

“Hyung?”

“We’re on a beach,” Yunho said, rolling them a little so that he could get his hands down to deal with the zip and button on his pants. “Why are the buttons making—sounds—”

Changmin was entirely on board with the disrobing, but clearly Yunho was having issues. “I’ll make you—make—sounds,” said Changmin, batting Yunho’s hands out of the way so that he could get Yunho’s pants down. He got more than a little distracted by Yunho’s cock, warm and full and trying to poke out of the opened zip of his pants. Air hissed through Changmin’s suddenly clenched teeth. He pressed down, pet nervous fingers over the heat of him. “Hyung,” he managed.

Yunho stared down where Changmin’s fingers were moonlight pale and cupping the slope of his cock.  His breath came in short, almost panicked sounding pants.

Changmin leaned up to kiss him calmer, even as his fingers kneaded and pressed and generally worked Yunho’s heart rate higher.

“Changdol,” Yunho said, voice mostly gasped air. “Changdol—please.”

It was dream-easy for Changmin to slip his hand through the slit in Yunho’s boxers, work the circle of his fingers around the swell of his cock, and hold.

Yunho groaned, stomach going concave in his quest to get his hips closer to Changmin’s, and kissed him so hard Changmin was sure he’d drawn blood. “Changdol,” he kept moaning, rocking into the admittedly poor friction Changmin was supplying, and making a mess of Changmin’s mouth so that he couldn’t respond.

“Hyung,” Changmin tried to groan anyway, giving up on Yunho’s cock and ignoring the disappointed protest that got him. He pulled free of Yunho’s boxers and dropped his hand down on Yunho’s ass, palming a cheek through the fabric of his dress pants. “Why are you,” he said between kisses. “Wearing clothes?”

It was minutes before Yunho answered, too busy twisting his hands in Changmin’s hair and tugging, eyes fluttering open to notice that it had grown two inches and gone blond. “Fuck,” he said, like he couldn’t quite believe. “Changminnie. Please.”

Changmin groaned, both hands on Yunho’s hips now, fingers flexing on the bit of flesh he could get his hands on with his pants still in the way. He pulled Yunho forward, rocked their cocks together and went still, throat clogging, and held his mouth frozen against Yunho’s. Then he pulled back, heart pounding, because he needed to see.

“Fuck,” Yunho said, when he glanced down to see what Changmin was looking at—the hump of each other, the way the Yunho’s pants were gaping open obscenely, how the jump of his cock was visible through the thin layers of his boxers. “Fuck.”

Changmin agreed, shoved both hands down to drag Yunho out of the trousers, and then abandoned that journey when Yunho reached down to help.

He shrugged out of his dress shirt, pulling his arms free and letting the thing fall down as a makeshift blanket between them, getting more than a little distracted by Yunho doing the same. The trousers were gone leaving just the boxers, bright red and straining and stained in the front. Yunho paused with his shirt almost off, held it to his chest like he was embarrassed, and Changmin leaned up so that he could bite him through the satin until he yelped, voice a high, needy thing.

“Fuck,” Yunho swore again, like Changmin’d gotten him on the nipple like he wanted to. “Fuck.” He threw the shirt down on top of Changmin’s and raised up on his knees so Changmin could get his own pants off. Then he laughed, unable to stop watching Changmin get rid of his belt and his trousers. “I’m still wearing my socks.”

“Leave them on,” Changmin said, not certain when either of them had lost their shoes, but not at all opposed to the picture Yunho painted.

Bathed in unreal moonlight, wearing shin high black socks and red boxers and nothing else. There was a necklace hanging around his neck—his little sister’s school colors—a gift, Changmin thought. A bruise was blooming where Changmin’d bit him, little lines of heat marking up his sides where Changmin had scratched him, and he was almost shy when he worked his boxers down his hips. 

Changmin had to kiss him and Jihye’s necklace was cold heat between them. 

Changmin thought briefly about their totems, tossed who knows where with their pants, but then he forgot his concern as quickly as it came.

Yunho was naked in his lap, rapidly turning the same color of his boxers with embarrassment, and Changmin was distracted wanting to make sure this was a dream.

“Yunho-hyung,” he said, heart going haywire in his chest. “I—”

Yunho kissed him once to get him quiet, and then sat back on his haunches so he could reach his pants, pulling out his totem without so much as a word.

Changmin stared up at him, balanced so precariously across Changmin’s thighs. He had to fight not to lean in, to look.

“It’s my grandfather’s,” Yunho said, clicking the watch open and staring. “He gave it to me when he died.”

Changmin swallowed, remembering that four-day leave. Yunho got special permission to leave the base—two days to say his goodbyes, two days the next week for the funeral. He remembered Yunho coming back quiet, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. He remembered the state of his subconscious, the next time they dreamed. He remembered faking training notes, talking about how their latest game of find the fact went perfectly. Yunho put his secrets in an old shoebox in his childhood home, Changmin wrote, and that was true.

(What was also true, was that none of Yunho’s projections bothered Changmin. They were all too busy crying. Changmin left that out of the report. He didn’t think the military needed to know that. Didn’t think they were _owed_.

They never spoke about it.)

Changmin took out his own totem, smoothing anxious fingers over the warm metal. He pushed himself up so that he wasn’t lying back on his elbows, and had to hold Yunho by the bare hip to keep from dislodging him. Neither of their erections had waned, and for two seconds Changmin debated throwing away his grandmother’s lighter and just _grinding_ , arching into the jut of Yunho’s hip and biting at Yunho’s neck until he drew blood and Yunho _howled_.

Instead: “It was my grandmother’s,” Changmin explained, flicking the lighter open and lighting the space between the two of them with purple fire. “It burns purple in dreams.” He swallowed, not sure why he was offering. “Potassium chloride and all.” He flicked it closed, casting them both into shadow, and fisted a hand around the lighter nervously. “I—probably shouldn’t have told you that.” He laughed, nervous. 

It wasn’t like that was all.

In reality, Changmin’s grandmother’s lighter didn’t even burn, but Changmin was a paranoid bastard who wanted to have a bulletproof totem. 

Yunho closed his grandfather’s pocket watch with a grin, then bent down to kiss Changmin.

It was gentle this time.

Less hurried.

Changmin was still hard up against Yunho’s ass cheeks, but he had the naked love of his life across his lap. He figured he was justified. 

“It ticks forward in dreams,” Yunho whispered, like a secret. 

Changmin fluttered his eyes open and found him staring back at him, so much affection in that one look that Changmin nearly went catonic at the sight of it. “Hyung,” he whispered. 

“I fixed it myself,” Yunho said, kissing Changmin some more. “Now enough talking.” He ground down so that Changmin’s cock settled in between the groove of his ass cheeks. “More fucking.”

Changmin made a broken, bitten off noise, and for two seconds all he did was kiss Yunho and fuck up against him in a cheap parody of sex. 

Then he got his shit together and rolled them, tumbling Yunho down onto the sand in one even move.

Yunho stilled where he sprawled, legs sliding open unashamedly, staring up at Changmin with his mouth parted and his chest starting to heave.

Changmin had to shut his eyes to keep from coming, one hand wrapping around the base of his cock. “Yunho-hyung,” he said, eyes still closed. “What you do to me.”

There were fingers on his chin, fingers tracing his lips, so Changmin chased them with his eyes closed and found Yunho’s perfect cupid’s bow mouth. He kissed him, pressed up against him so that he could grind him into the sand, and then laughed.

“We should fuck on dream beaches more often,” Changmin said, opening his eyes and grinning down at Yunho.

Yunho stared back, mouth still not all the way closed. It was like he couldn’t quite figure out how to get it to do so, anymore. “Not real beaches?” he asked finally. His voice was rough, mostly rasp.

Changmin wanted to sand his face against it. “We are not fucking on real beaches,” he said, then before Yunho could protest. “Imagine all that sand.” He brought a hand between them and concentrated, grinning when Limbo gave him lube and a condom. “We’d be finding it in our bed for months after.”

Yunho watched Changmin wet his fingers with lube. “Right,” he said, in tones that suggested he absolutely wasn’t listening. “Wait—what—”

“We can fuck in other real places,” Changmin said, leaning in to kiss him again, and then reached around so that he could get a finger in his own ass.

For three seconds, Yunho was shocked to silence. Then he blinked, pushing against the sand so that he could sit up and watch, and stared at where Changmin was working slick fingers against the furl of his asshole, legs spread wide. “What?” he said, eyes darting between Changmin’s face, his cock, and the disappearance of fingers behind his thighs. “You—”

Changmin sunk down on two fingers, curling them up against his prostate with a hiss, and stared down at Yunho with his eyes half lidded. 

Yunho’s cock jumped, clearly unbothered. 

“I’ve been waiting to sit on that dick since I was twenty-one years old, Yunho-hyung,” Changmin said. “Are you really so selfish to make me wait _longer_?” He curled a third finger in on the end of that sentence and whined the last word, pressed up against his prostate and making sweat break out on his brow bone, sliding down the back of his neck to pool in the small of his back. Changmin worked his ass in circles, thighs straining, and moaned.

When he looked forward, Yunho was staring at him, with his mouth open and eyes wide. 

Changmin raised a brow. 

“Well when you put it that way,” Yunho managed, voice crackling. “Come here, Changdol-ah.”

Changmin shuddered through the nickname and tossed Yunho the condom. “Be careful,” he said. “You are not getting sand in my ass.”

Yunho glared at him but made a show of shaking out his fingers before he tore the condom wrapper. “This is a dream, Changmin-ah,” he said. “I don’t think it really matters—”

Changmin slid forward on his knees and hovered, staring down at Yunho through his bangs. He scowled, then shoved them out of his eyes. “Why the heck have you given me these—”

Yunho finished rolling the condom down his dick and rocked up so that the head of his cock hit where Changmin’s fingers were still hooked into him loosely to the first knuckle. “I think you’re adorable,” he said. “I think you’re cute—”

“I think you’re deranged,” Changmin said back, but shifted so that he wasn’t working himself open so much as holding himself open a little, thigh staring to shake for nerves. It wasn’t like this was a new thing, taking a dick. Changmin wasn’t some blushing virgin. He’d had all manner of things up there, though mostly manmade. And maybe it wasn’t really fucking, if it was someone your subconscious had dreamed up for you.

Changmin worked in dreamshare. He couldn’t dream _normally_ anymore. So sometimes he dreamed himself his own wet dreams. Sue him. He had a working cock—

“Shit, fuck, _Hyung_ ,” Changmin groaned, distracted from his tangent by the head of Yunho’s cock, larger than he’d been expecting and working into him in a slow, choppy grind. Changmin let go of his asshole, lube sticky fingers pulling away from his rim and ending up holding his own ass cheeks spread wide, but unable to get them to cooperate enough to stop… _clutching_.

He moaned, his head bent back. Several seconds later, and Yunho was in him to the base. Changmin breathed hard, stomach jutting his cock out.

Yunho seemed to take that for the request it absolutely wasn’t and reached down to take Changmin by the dick. 

Changmin whined, over stimulated by touch and dick alone. “Yunho-hyung,” he said shakily, staring at Yunho’s face because it was safer than looking down at Yunho’s hand on his cock, or craning around to see where Yunho was pressed balls deep in his ass. 

His knees were sinking into the sand where they were spread wide around Yunho’s waist, but Changmin finally managed to get his hand off his own ass, and he put it down on the sand next to Yunho’s left hip to try to help keep balance.

It didn’t help, and Changmin very quickly ended up grabbing Yunho by the chest and holding onto that instead. He hiccupped through moans, his eyes shut against the onslaught of Yunho’s perfect dick right up against his prostate. “Yunho-hyung,” Changmin said again.

Yunho kissed him, then rolled him, and Changmin went willingly with a groan. “Love—fake—beaches,” he said somewhat nonsensically into Yunho’s mouth as the man practically bent him in half, got him on his back with his knees up by his clavicles and did his best to fuck Changmin right into the beach.

In reality, Changmin was a hundred present certain he’d have sand in his fucking mouth, but since this was a dream, all he had was Yunho’s perfect, enormous cock, dragging right up against his prostate on each and every stroke, and Yunho’s perfect, enormous back, right within reach for Changmin to paw and claw and scratch at. 

“Love—you,” Changmin continued, practically all the way already. “Ngh. Yunho-hyung.” 

Changmin came first, untouched, but Yunho followed him very soon after, and after that they were both so wonderfully boneless, trading kisses in the moonlight, and content to listen to the lull of the waves.

“I love you too, Changdol-ah,” Yunho said.

Changmin moaned.

 

* * *

 

Later, they dressed in silence. Their clothes were pristine, and the sun was a warm disc high in the sky. They’d slept through the sunrise, but somehow Changmin didn’t really think it had been a fully twenty-hour hours of Limbo time. When he finished with his shirt and abandoned his belt to the beach, Changmin wondered briefly about the oddness of time in Limbo. But mostly he thought fondly of round two, and how he hadn’t ever seen the point of rimming, before.

Also, he ached, in a way that he hadn’t ever after, in dreams, and even though he knew it was the fault of the sedative Changmin couldn’t find fault with it. It made it real. Less… like a dream.

Some part of Changmin was still dreading waking up.

Never mind what Yunho had said, in the middle. Never mind what Changmin had said, in the middle. Sand was sand was sand, and Changmin couldn’t think of _any_ man who would welcome it into their bedroom, let alone up important orifices. Yunho talking about fucking Changmin other places was probably less about wanting to keep fucking Changmin, and more about wanting to avoid rug burn. Sand… burn.

Changmin frowned. 

“How long have we been here?” Yunho said suddenly, still working on the buttons of his shirt. It was the same color as it had been yesterday, but all the buttons seemed to be attached again.

Changmin was almost disappointed; he would have liked for his last moments spent on this god-forsaken beach to have been spent with Yunho, bare chested in a shirt that could have gotten him cast in a pirate film.

“Were my sleeves always this billowy?” Yunho continued, pausing with the buttons to pluck at the fabric.

“Yes,” Changmin lied, not at all pleased about the fluidity of Limbo. It didn’t seem to matter who built what, here. There were no projections, and even if there started to be—and they were buzzing, clamoring in Changmin’s head to be let out so they could set up roost here—Changmin had the feeling it wouldn’t matter what he and Yunho did.

Truly, they were really like gods. 

“You’re lying,” Yunho said, but sounded amused about it. 

“Yes,” Changmin agreed.

Yunho laughed. “But how long?” 

Changmin shrugged. “You’re the one with the watch,” he said. It should have worried him, how easily he’d lost track of time. Maybe he could blame it on the sun, the way the moon had come out early when they’d stumbled upon the Arc de triomphe. Maybe he could blame it on Yunho, and the unfairly accurate way he’d managed to spear Changmin in the prostate.

“Very funny,” Yunho said, even as he pulled the watch out anyway. “Huh.”

Changmin stepped in close so that he could hook his chin around Yunho’s shoulder. The hands of the watched all moved forward.

“Eight hours,” Yunho said finally. “So a full night’s sleep—”

Changmin bit back reproach, fully aware that eight hours was a full night’s sleep for people like Yunho. 

“That’s… what, in reality.” Yunho closed his grandfather’s watch and pocketed it, one hand coming up to circle the arm Changmin had worked around his throat and chest. After a pause, he returned to button his shirt. 

Changmin watched the bruises on his throat disappear under his shirt collar. “Like a twentieth of a second,” he said. “Yunho-hyung.”

Yunho raised both hands in defense. “Right, sorry,” he said. 

Changmin sighed, before stepping back. He felt the separation like an ache; wondered again if they’d come out of Limbo changed.  

Yunho finished with his shirt, then just stood still, thinking.

They turned to each other almost as one:

“Were you thinking  tower, or just skyscraper? I’ve always liked Sky Tree.”

“I’ve never been this good at building in dreams, Hyung.” 

Their sentences came out nearly on top of each other, stopping only when the other’s words registered.

Changmin furrowed his brow, trying and failing to figure out Yunho’s train of thought. “Tower?” he asked. “Skyscraper? Sky Tree?”

“You’ve always been good at building in dreams,” Yunho said at the same time as him again. “It’s not your fault that Seonsaengnim was more interested in dream stability.”

“I kept dying,” Changmin agreed mindlessly. “My dreams were always too specific—” 

“You were a baby,” Yunho interjected, rubbing guiltily at the back of his neck. “I felt so bad, about what I said to you.”

Changmin had to stop him, blinking. “What?”

“Heechul-hyung raked me over the coals,” Yunho admitted. “After you’d run away. Apparently, someone caught you crying.”

“I was not crying,” Changmin insisted, ears hot. “I was… I got dust in my eye—”

“Yeah, well, it looked like you were crying,” said Yunho, a concession if Changmin ever heard one, but good enough for Changmin to take it anyway.

“Okay,” he said.  “Go on,” he said.

Yunho’s lips quirked. “I really love you, Changdol-ah,” he said quietly. “Just—don’t ever change, please.”

Changmin’s ears felt hot for a completely different reason. “I love you too,” he said, since there was no point in not doing so. He’d feel sick with it if he didn’t—especially here, where keeping secrets would probably end with Limbo spelling out Changmin’s feelings in the sky like Americans did in the movies—sky writing, or whatever. 

Yunho smiled at him, suddenly shy. “But my point still stands,” he says. “You’ve always been good at building dreams.”

Changmin looked to the side where he somehow knew their elevator had been and ducked his head. “Thanks, Hyung,” he said.

Yunho stepped in close and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

Changmin wanted to be stupid and tumble him back onto the sand and… kiss him. Among other things. 

He licked his lips instead. “So… Sky Tree.”

Yunho smiled. “Or Namsan,” he said. “Could be fun.”

“To plummet to our death off an iconic monument?” Changmin said dryly.

Yunho laughed. “At least it’d be patriotic,” he said.

“Because using stolen military technology to rip off cosmetics companies is totally patriotic, Hyung.”

Yunho shrugged. “The military taught us.”

“The military wanted us to get good at dying in dreams so we’d be ready to die in reality,” Changmin said. 

Yunho shrugged again, but didn’t dispute it. 

“Besides it’s not like _we_ stole the PASIV.”

Yunho let Changmin have that.

“Or wanted to work with Crebeau,” Changmin couldn’t help but add. “Did you know they used baby _lambs—_ ”

“I’m pretty sure that’s repetitive, Changdol-ah,” Yunho said gently.

Changmin opened his mouth to argue, and Yunho leaned in and kissed him quiet.

It worked.

Changmin would give Yunho that; if he wanted to shut him up that way for the rest of his life, Changmin would not object. “What do you think about—staying,” Changmin said, which was not what he had wanted to say, but what his heart was thinking anyway. About staying here, the full fifty or so years. Of living a life, here, the full fifty or so years. With Yunho. 

Yunho went serious, thinking. “I guess it’s not like we’ll be able to wake up, once we’re on the first level of the dream,” he said slowly. “And I’m not even sure it would be enough, to fall in Lim—on this level.”

He made the correction like that would help them, somehow. If they didn’t say it out loud, the reality of the situation wouldn’t be reality period.

There was a reason people told horror stories about Limbo. 

Changmin knew at least one couple personally who’d ended up braindead after going too deep, and that was enough of a firsthand account for him. 

If Yunho wanted to act like this was just another level down (and at least it seemed like it might operate similarly, in terms of time passing), then who was Changmin to begrudge him that. 

“We might not wake up,” Yunho said quietly. 

Changmin twisted his lips to the side. He’d had that thought also—the only way they’d jumped levels before had been because Yoochun dropped them simultaneously, the synchronized kicks allowing them to bypass the sedative’s effects enough to end up a level up. For all they knew falling here would just… put them right back where they’d started. 

It was probably safer to wait the full fifty years.

“It’s not like eighty is old, anyway,” Yunho finished, as Changmin thought.

Changmin looked at him.

“We’d be eighty, in fifty years,” Yunho explained.

Changmin thought about that. Thought about Yunho with fifty years on him, sun spots, wrinkles, life written into his skin. 

He thought about spending the rest of his natural life with Yunho.

“That’s not old,” Changmin said.

Yunho smiled.

“Besides, it’s not like we’d be alone, or anything,” Changmin continued, thinking it through. “The horror stories are all about people who’ve forgotten they were dreaming—but we’ll have each other.”

Yunho nodded.

“What could go wrong?” Changmin said.

Yunho took his hand. “Nothing,” he said swinging them between them. “Come on. I’ve always wanted to go to Prague—”

Changmin followed after him, the dream changing around them as they walked.

It was perfect.

Nothing would go wrong, Changmin was sure.

So, it was his fault, really. He was the one who had wanted to stay—who’d gotten distracted by the capacity to make miracles, in all this uncharted, empty space. 

He was the one who’d _done it_ , to Yunho.

It’s Changmin’s fault. 

All of it.

 

* * *

 

“How long were we in Limbo, Changdol-ah?” Yunho asks, spread out on the sand in his open, bloody shirt. He looks like some sort of painting. Like an avenging angel.

Changmin hurts, looking at him. “Fifty years,” Changmin whispers.

“And… how did we escape?” 

It’s hard to see Yunho when Yunho’s got tears in his eyes. By all means Changmin shouldn’t be the one sightless— _he’s_ not even crying—but he can barely bring himself to make out Yunho’s features, let alone answer his questions. 

Changmin swallows. “I murdered you,” he says. 

The apple of Yunho’s throat bobs. “I see.”

“You let me,” Changmin adds. “If that helps.”

It’s a lie. Yunho is silent. The waves crash on the beach at their feet; their daughter’s sandcastles melted into sludge. 

It doesn’t help. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Found within: that time Nat was like 'this is a flashback so it needs to be in past tense. I don't care how upset my muse is going to be when we have to move back into present tense. It's POETIC.' /wipes sweat from brow. Anyway, I think this chapter has some of my favorite lines and also my favorite gif on Twitter. Do check it out and give it a retweet. :)
> 
> Share this fic: [Tumblr](https://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/185391613090/homin-fic-its-alright-even-if-you-hate-me) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/1154876156132376581).


	9. Limbo | July 2018

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : Discussions of mpreg.

The thing about inception is, Changmin knew it was possible before Heechul-hyung heard from Saito.

He wasn’t sure when it started—maybe in the early stages of Limbo. Barely one year in, a week, at most. Or maybe later. Maybe it was after the honeymoon. Changmin couldn’t really _remember_ , was the thing. But he knew it was possible. He’d done it first. _Yunho_ had done it first. 

Yunho and Changmin were in the very early stages of newly dating, having exhausted their repertoire of European cities and unrealistic architecture. They built themselves a restaurant, traditional Japanese style with a heated kotatsu and around the clock service, and bought a back room out so that they could proceed to get very, very drunk.

This was the part where the reality of the situation was starting to sink in. Neither of them regretted staying, and certainly neither of them had tried falling off buildings to see if they could even go up a level, but fifty years was essentially a lifetime, and Changmin and Yunho had never been the sort of people for whom playing house was going to be enough. At least, not forever.

Getting blackout drunk, reminiscing about the various jobs they’d pulled and also the lives they’d lived, seemed like a good idea at the time.

So Changmin was off his ass, when Yunho started listing his most embarrassing crushes.

“It was in college,” Yunho began with, slurring. “Or… maybe high school.”

Changmin remembered suddenly that Yunho hadn’t even gone to college; instead he enlisted into the army and joined Project Somnacin at a mere twenty-one years old, fresh out of military service. He met Changmin three months into being a soldier proper, along with they who would not be named, and walked out the doors of the military as one of the greatest extractors the world had ever seen.

Changmin didn’t say any of this, because he was too busy trying not to fall over. He was even sitting down, subdued completely by the kotatsu, but the alcohol in his system didn’t seem to care. The room was spinning and Yunho’s words were… still going.

“Middle school,” Yunho decided, flapping a hand around in the air between them. “Whatever.” He licked his lips. “I was old.” He paused, eyebrows doing an uncomfortable looking dance. “I’d… come, before.” There was a beat. “There was semen—”

Changmin made a face. “Ew, gross, Hyung, thanks for that image,” he said, trying not to be too obvious about the fact that not even the frightening amount of soju they’d consumed was able to keep Changmin from thinking about much more pleasurable reasons for Yunho to be orgasming dry. Changmin wasn’t some sort of asshole. Middle school Yunho held no interest for him.

“You didn’t seem to think it was gross last night,” Yunho said, then tried to put an elbow on the table between them. He missed, and Changmin had to reach out and steady him, because he didn’t want Yunho to give himself a black eye by braining himself on the table. “Thanks, Changdol,” Yunho said. The way he was grinning at Changmin made him look daft; it wasn’t attractive or charming in the slightest. 

“You were saying?” said Changmin, not letting go of Yunho’s wrist.

Yunho looked down at where they were touching across the table, and his expression somehow went fonder.

It still wasn’t attractive, or charming, or anything other than daft.

“I had a horrible crush on Park Jinyoung,” Yunho explained finally, staring happily at Changmin.

Changmin squinted back at him, which did exactly zero to help him decode Yunho’s nonsense, but did have the added bonus of keeping the man in focus. “Like,” he said after a pause. “JYP?”

Yunho nodded, raising the hand that wasn’t attached to Changmin and was attached to the alcohol, which sloshed soju everywhere. “Yeah, JYP,” Yunho said excitedly. “Thanks, Changminnie. You’re so smart.”

Changmin stared down sadly at the spilled alcohol, which miraculously seemed to clean itself up as he did so. He startled, for a second confused, before he remembered this was a dream, and therefore things like self-cleaning tables—because it was the table, obviously, not the alcohol; alcohol wasn’t sentient, no matter how much Changmin believed it wanted him to drink it and buy it—were totally par for the course. 

All sorts of impossible things could happen in dreams, like Changmin deciding suddenly to change his shirt. It was very hot to be wearing long sleeves, after all. And Yunho always said he liked Changmin’s arms.

“Yah,” Yunho said suddenly, interrupting Changmin’s internal monologue by punching him hard in one such arm. “Changdol-ah.”

“Ow,” Changmin said. “Yunho-hyung.”

“You’re not listening to me,” complained Yunho in explanation. He pouted. “It’s rude not to listen to me, Changdol.” When he did things like roll his lips pursed, Changmin couldn’t help but think about other things Yunho could do with his mouth.

He rubbed at the bare skin of his arm, chagrined. “Right, yes, sorry, Yunho-hyung.” Yunho was still looking at Changmin with freaking puppy dog eyes, so Changmin added, “When you were in middle school, you had a crush on JYP.”

Yunho glared at him but didn’t hit him again. “In middle school, I had a dream that I was an idol,” he corrected.  

Changmin blinked, because what the fuck did that have to do with JYP?

“And idol me was—JYP was my sugar daddy,” Yunho continued to explain, like this made perfect sense and illuminated everything. “And he was really nice, so when I woke up I had a crush on him for like weeks.”

Changmin blinked again, then blinked again, then blinked _again_ , then stopped blinking physically but kept blinking metaphorically, so that he basically ended up staring at Yunho blankly, horrified. “He’s like fifty, Yunho-hyung,” he said finally. “You were like fifteen.” 

“Sixteen,” Yunho said loftily. “And he’s aged well.” He lifted his nose, clearly offended on his sixteen-year-old self’s behalf. “Also he wasn’t fifty when I was sixteen.” 

Changmin had always been the sort of person who absorbed pointless information like the year beer was invented (3,500 BC) and the year Park Jinyoung was born (1971), so he frowned. “So he was like… thirty,” he calculated, still managing to do the math despite the frightening amount of alcohol in his system. (Take that, they who shall not be named. Even drunk to his gills Changmin could still run circles around whatever bastard they’d paid to run point for their double cross. If they even had a pointman-Changmin was betting they’d just been in bed with fucking Crebeau Cosmetics, honestly.) 

Yunho was staring at Changmin, clearly unimpressed.

Changmin licked his lips. “Whatever. That’s still like double your age.”

Yunho didn’t seem bothered, nose still in the air. “He’s aged like fine wine,” he said, then winked.

Changmin kind of wanted to bleach his brain. “We’re not nearly drunk enough for this conversation,” he said, then poured them both more soju.

 

* * *

 

It was an unknown amount of time later, when Changmin and Yunho were significantly past the awkward stage of dating, and were well into the sickeningly sweet stage of dating, complete with expensive candles, Korean BBQ, and one ill-timed trip to visit a farm in Gangwon that Yunho insisted he had read about once in reality, and who supposedly only kept sheep, but really seemed much more like _Jurassic_ _World_ , to Changmin. It was possible neither of them actually remembered what a sheep looked like, but Changmin wasn’t going to ruminate on that.

It was still fun, even though they ended up running through a filed dressed like Little Bo Peeps being chased by a giant, t-rex sized sheep with fangs. Changmin still put out, and Yunho made the most of their California king and the smooth skin between Changmin’s thighs. 

They’d even set themselves up with jobs—a pre-school teacher for Yunho and an apprentice chef for Changmin—which somehow didn’t seem to affect their relationship negatively. Absence really did make the heart grow fonder, apparently, and also Changmin really had always wanted to try his hand at cuisine. Though Yunho did spend an entire week sleeping on their couch for singing a song about sharks nonstop. 

It was an unknown amount of time later—maybe, three? Years?—when Yunho had been upgraded from help pre-school teacher to having his own class of twenty-five four to five year-olds, and Changmin wasn’t a Stage anymore and was instead considering opening his own restaurant, that Yunho and Changmin were grocery shopping, and Park Freaking Jinyoung showed up in the produce aisle. 

Yunho immediately started hitting Changmin frantically in the arm, excited, and Changmin debated slapping him with a banana.

“Changminnie,” Yunho said, nearly beside himself with enthusiasm. “Changminnie that’s—” He paused, eyes darting around, then whispered, “ _JYP_ ,” like he was on some damn hit track. 

Changmin stared at him.

Yunho kept hitting him like some sort of overstimulated, tiny dog. “You get it?” he said, giggling. “JYP?” More giggling, and hitting, and frankly unattractively high-pitched snickers. “See, I whispered, because it’s _JYP—_ ”

“Yes, I get it,” Changmin interrupted. “But please.” He winced. “Stop hitting me.” 

“Changdol, that’s Park Jinyoung,” said Yunho, thankfully not still hitting Changmin. “Whose projection do you think he is?”

Changmin gave the singer in question a once over, taking in the diligence in which the man was surveying the squash. “Dunno,” he started to say.

“How old do you think he is?” continued Yunho, tone almost wistful. “What year is it, again?”

“2022,” Changmin said immediately, because even though he couldn’t remember half the time, some part of him was clearly keeping obsessive track. If Yunho caught him off guard, Changmin usually was able to rattle off the length of time they’d been stuck in Limbo. 

“Hmm,” Yunho said. “So, he’s, what? Fifty-two?” 

Changmin shut his eyes. “Yunho-hyung—”

Yunho’s voice sounded amused. “You got your wish, Changminnie. He’s like fifty now.” He hummed again. “He really does look good—”

“I’ve decided he’s my projection,” interrupted Changmin desperately, palming a few more almost ripe-looking bananas. “If he’s yours, he might try to sleep with you.” He swallowed, not keen on thinking about _that_. “If he’s mine, I can kill him.” 

Yunho made an odd noise that may or may not have been something along the line of, “Park Jinyoung-sunbaenim is a kind and gentle lover. He would make love,” which was _horrifying_ , so Changmin decided to strike it from his memory.

“If he’s mine, I can kill him,” he said again. “So there.” 

Yunho looked at him blankly for a long moment, so Changmin rather nervously handed him the bananas. Yunho took them, still staring, and Changmin started wheeling their cart rather frantically up the aisle. He wasn’t sure why they’d gotten it—no way their food needs were _that_ great—but probably it was just capitalism, or something. Changmin vaguely remembered watching a documentary about the layout choices of supermarkets, back when he was still half studying architecture. He didn’t have time to worry about duplicitous grocery store marketing, though; he was too busy worrying about Park Jinyoung stealing his man. 

“You can’t kill JYP, Changmin,” Yunho said, falling into step behind Changmin with the bananas. 

Park Jinyoung was unfortunately moving up his aisle as well, generous helping of squash in one hand. It was a very nice hand, Changmin thought. Sturdy looking. Well proportioned. The sort of hand that would be able to provide for Yunho, if Changmin died tragically after picturing their unholy union. 

“I can too,” Changmin told Yunho, wrestling his eyes off of JYP and picking up a carton of strawberries. “I hate the packaging on these things,” he muttered. “It’s pointless waste.”

“We can just vanish it when we’re done,” said Yunho, with the exact same tone he talked about disposing of the condom or even the actual stuff sliding out of his or Changmin’s ass, afterwards. “It is a dream.”

Changmin wanted to hate him. Normal people weren’t supposed to walk through supermarkets carrying bananas and making innuendos about come leaking out of their ass. Normal people weren’t supposed to find that _hot_. 

Changmin found it blazing, and also wondered mindlessly if it counted as a real innuendo if Yunho wasn’t doing it purposefully. “Yes, it is a dream,” he said. “So I can totally kill Park Jinyoung if I want.” 

If this was reality, this would be the moment in Changmin’s tragic life where not only would Park Jinyoung overhear him, but so too would the man next to them, who would just so happen to be a police officer, and Changmin would end up getting tackled and arrested for attempting to murder a celebrity, while Yunho sobbed, betrayed by his suddenly murderous boyfriend, and Park Freaking Jinyoung would freaking console him. They’d end up running off and eloping, or something.

Changmin scowled. He really ought to do something about that. JYP couldn’t elope with Yunho if Yunho had to _divorce_ Changmin first. Changmin could just refuse to sign the divorce papers and then take him to court. Or visit their dead dog’s grave and have a good cry, ultimately revealing himself to be the good, decent man Yunho wanted to be in love with in the first place.

Or… something. 

It was possible Changmin had gone from thinking about how his life would be if it was a sitcom, to thinking about how his life would be if it was an early two-thousands, American rom-com. 

Luckily, Changmin’s life was none of those things.

Park Jinyoung just smiled like strangers made threats at him all the time, actually waved at the two of them—Changmin waved back, terrified, but Yunho practically sparkled in return—before returning to his fruit gathering. He was feeling over all the apples, gaze serious.

Changmin rushed their cart forward even more. “Did you see that?” he hissed, dropping the strawberries into the cart. “I mean one, that was creepy as fuck.”

Yunho’s lips quirked like he thought Changmin was adorable, but thankfully he remained silent. This was good, because honestly Changmin was on a roll. 

“Two, he has to be my projection, because otherwise, he should have gotten homicidal.”

Like clockwork, they nearly ran into a pair of suit wearing college students, both of which had bags under their eyes and only seemed to be stocking ramen in their own oversized, capitalist dream cart. They both smiled and waved, happy as clams, even though Changmin was sure he’d run over both of their feet and definitely knocked an entire bushel of oranges into their cart. He didn’t feel bad about that, because they looked like the could use the vitamin C. “Be careful!” Changmin couldn’t help but call out over his shoulder. “Go outside! See the sun! You wouldn’t want to get—” He broke off when he realized Yunho was smiling at him fondly. “Scurvy.”

The projections raised their hands and waved back, looking unrealistically happy to be receiving unsolicited dietary advice from a complete stranger. 

Changmin brought their cart around a corner and away from the produce aisles, then looked blankly at Yunho’s guileless smile for the entire minute of silence it took them to reach the dairy products. 

“Ooh, banana milk,” said Yunho, reaching out for a carton. 

Changmin watched him glance around, shrug because this was a dream, then spear the carton open with one thumb.

“Mm,” Yunho said, drinking.

Changmin took the real-life bananas from under his arms and put them in the cart on top of their strawberries. “On second thought, he’s your projection,” he muttered. When Yunho raised one brow at him, he added, “He’s too damn happy. They all are.”

The family of eight passing them all managed to smile—even the heavily pregnant wife.

“And pregnant,” Changmin continued, noticing that there really were a tragic number of expecting parents in the store around them. He wasn’t speaking very loudly; more to himself than Yunho.

Yunho heard him anyway. “I like children,” he said quietly, still half-smiling at Changmin.

Changmin did not want to kiss him. “It’s creepy,” he said, hefting a quart of skim milk with one hand. It was heavier than Changmin was expecting, and he nearly lost his hold, basically overbalanced. 

Yunho’s hand joined his around the handle, fingers cold from his banana milk. “What, how much I love you?” he asked quietly.

Changmin at him, mouth dropping open.

Yunho put the milk in the cart. “They’re only happy to see _you_ , Changdol.” 

Changmin looked around, tearing up only because nearly dropping the milk had pulled a muscle in his arm, and noticed what Yunho said appeared to be true.

The family of soon-to-be nine was arguing, at least three of the babies crying, and moments later, the ramen kids passed by having it out about a girl. They still smiled at Changmin when they went by, but Changmin could only blink after them in response.

“What?”

“My projections love you, Changdol,” Yunho said. “Sorry if that’s creepy.”

Changmin looked at him sharply. He was pretty sure he was joking, but he tugged Yunho down to kiss him anyway. “I guess that’s not creepy, then,” he told Yunho’s bottom lip.

Yunho smiled and Changmin felt it right up against his mouth, they were so pressed together.

“But still.” Changmin finally pushed Yunho back a safe distance, before they destroyed another perfectly constructed dream establishment by turning it into a portal to their bedroom. “You’re distracting me.” He walked them and their cart away from the dairy and down the first aisle he found. 

Yunho cocked his head to the side, clearly curious. 

“Park Jinyoung,” Changmin said. 

Yunho’s mouth rounded in realization.

“If he was your projection,” Changmin started.

“Then he could _sleep with me_ ,” Yunho finished, eyes shining.

Changmin narrowed his eyes. “You sound excited about that.”

Yunho’s expression smoothed into one of innocence. “Of course not, Changminnie.”

Changmin ground his teeth together and sild both of his hands down so that he had Yunho by the ass, their pelvises pushed together indecently in the middle of the grocery store.

Yunho’s breathing picked up and he licked nervously at his lips.

Changmin frowned down at him. “You will not sleep with Park Jinyoung,” he instructed.

Yunho stared at him with his teeth visibly digging into his bottom lip. “Not even if it was you?” he asked.

Changmin went cross eyed, both from that visual, and from the actual visual of Yunho’s surgically enhanced front teeth worrying his lip raw. “What?” he said. “No.”

Yunho didn’t look disappointed, so he was probably just teasing, but Changmin still knocked his knees apart with a thigh and glared at him.

Yunho released his lip with a gasp. “Ngh, Changdol,” he said. It was more a moan than speech. 

Changmin shoved him up against the canned soup. “No,” he said again. “The only person you’ll be sleeping with is me.”

He let go of Yunho’s ass and took him by both hips, pulling them forward so that Yunho’s balance went to hell. Yunho knocked into the cans of soup, elbows balancing him precariously against the supermarket shelves, back bowed so high it had to hurt.

Changmin felt out of control and powerful all at the same time.

“Wearing me,” he added, tripping into Jinyoung’s skin to prove a point. It wasn’t the first time Changmin had forged in dreams, and certainly not the first time he’d done it front of Yunho, but as always, some part of Changmin was nervous that he’d be mocked for his lack of finesse. 

Heechul-hyung used to say Changmin just had too strong of a sense of self—he was too aware of what he looked like, or what he was supposed to look like, to really give himself over to the forgery. 

Jaejoong used to say Changmin was sloppy, that he ought to focus more on fact checking.

Yunho told him it was admirable, to know yourself that well.

Changmin tried not to think about any of that, instead focusing on the immediate reaction of disgust marring Yunho’s perfect features. 

Yunho squirmed, mouth thinning and turning down. “What? No. Changdol,” he complained, shifting against the shelving and the hold Changmin still had on them both. A tiny furrow appeared between his brows. “Change back.” The moving was doing nothing to help with the fact that he was still pressed obscenely up against Changmin’s dick, who had to admit, JYP’s added bulk was certainly nice.

The man was maybe a centimeter shorter than Changmin was, but when Changmin used his hands to hold Yunho’s hips steady, he felt like he could really bruise.

Of course, it was hard to think about that, when Yunho’s erection was rapidly flagging against Changmin’s thigh. And when Changmin leaned in to kiss him, Yunho actually twisted away from his mouth. 

“Changdol, change back,” he whined again, and if Changmin had wanted to kiss him before, he doubly wanted to do so now.

He shed his borrowed skin in an instant, wresting the still squirming Yunho better into submission, and Yunho tried to bite him before he realized that Changmin was Changmin. Then he went groaning into acquiescence against the soup cans. 

“You fucker,” Yunho said, as Changmin abandoned his mouth to get him back for the almost-biting, sucking bruises against the line of Yunho’s jaw like a vampire; worrying the flesh like he had the canines to really break skin. “Don’t do that,” Yunho said, as Changmin nipped a particularly sensitive spot on the hinge of his jaw, just under his left ear. “Don’t want to kiss anybody else.” Yunho sunk forward until the only thing holding him up against the soup was Changmin’s leg between his thigh, and the hot line of his cock made Changmin’s skin hum. “Don’t wanna love anybody else—”

“I suppose I should be glad you’re not going to leave me to elope with Park Jinyoung,” Changmin said a bit stupidly, leaving off Yunho’s neck and ending up lost in Yunho’s eyes.

Yunho blinked blearily back at him, gaze hazy and lovedrunk. “What?” He was staring to sound a bit like a broken record. His accent was out, vowels getting lost, all these random ‘eu’s added to his sentences.

“Park Jinyoung,” Changmin enunciated, rocking his hips forward so Yunho could feel the heat of Chagnmin’s own dick. “I’m glad you’re not going to elope with him.”

Yunho kept staring back at Changmin, mouth swollen and breath coming in gentle pants. “I’m not,” he slurred dutifully, cheeks twin points of pink in an otherwise dark cream face. “I wouldn’t.”

Changmin wondered if one day they’d ever sit down and dissect this thing they had between them. The possession thing. He certainly hoped so; he wanted to have the sort of relationship with Yunho were they could talk about anything. Although he supposed they had already talked about it in a way, back when things were new. When they were hashing out each other’s various _things_. Changmin confessing in a barely lit room that he’d always been curious about candles; Yunho confessing over dental hygiene that he’d always been curious about cock rings. 

Changmin moaned a little, overcome, and Yunho seemed to come back to himself a little. 

He hitched his hips back so that he was better supported, slumped up against the shelves. He looked at Changmin with his eyes half-mast. “I can think of an easier way for you to keep me from running off and eloping,” said Yunho. His tongue wet his lips the moment he had finished. 

Changmin stared at him—at the lovebites blooming against the skin of Yunho’s neck; at the slow pant of his unfairly generous chest, nipples showing through the fabric of his t-shirt. Changmin looked at the jut of Yunho’s cock, hard and full and straining the front of his jeans. 

“You were saying?” Changmin said.

“You could always marry me,” Yunho said, lashes casting shadows on his fucking cheekbones like a fucking romance novel. “That way, I definitely couldn’t leave you to elope with JYP.” His eyes glinted and his lips quirked. “With Jinyoung-hyung.”

Changmin kept staring at him, not sure if what he was feeling was arousal, or a slow descent into madness. Or just love for Yunho period. “Did you just ask me to marry you by telling me you wouldn’t elope with Park Jinyoung if I did?” asked Changmin finally, already fearing the answer.

Yunho just kept staring back up at him with his tongue darting around the corners of his mouth. “No,” he lied.

Changmin loomed further over him. “Hyung,” he said.

Yunho pushed up with his elbows so he wasn’t leaning against the soup cans anymore and was instead standing toe to toe with Changmin. One of Changmin’s legs was still between his. “Changdol,” he said.

Changmin’s eyes flicked between his mouth and his eyes like he couldn’t help himself. “You did,” he muttered. “You totally did.” Idly he wondered how it was possible that nobody had disturbed them, but honestly, he was just glad no one had spontaneously vanished from being, like the first time they tried public sex in Limbo. He was just glad there had been no announcement over the intercom that under no circumstance was anyone to disturb aisle—Changmin looked up and to his left—five. 

Yunho was practically salivating, he looked so eager. 

Changmin put both hands on his ass again and spun them around so that Changmin was the one getting shoved into the canned food. “You proposed to me by threatening to cheat on me with JYP.”

Yunho frowned at him. “I’d never cheat on you, Changdol-ah.”

Changmin waved him off. “I know that. But really? You couldn’t even get down on one knee?”

Yunho was on his knees immediately and Changmin’s face lit up in flames.

“Yah, don’t do that,” he said. 

Yunho just looked up at him with wholesome, honest eyes, and when he put his hands out he had a fucking ring box in them.

Changmin kind of wanted to cry, looking at him, but somehow, he managed to keep it together—to find the sarcasm. “Too little too late, Yunho-hyung.”

“Shim Changmin-ah,” Yunho said, popping the box open. “Honestly, I’d tell you I’ve been in love with you since you threw up my shoes in 2008.” 

Changmin would laugh, but he was too busy watching the ring. It couldn’t seem to decide on a shape, cycling through all manner of engagement rings. One with diamonds, one with nothing, one with curling lines etched into the top and the base, but all of them were what Changmin was certain was his exact ring size. It was like Yunho was nervous, even after four years of being practically married.

“It probably wouldn’t be a lie,” Yunho said. “But I totally didn’t realize.”

This time Changmin did laugh. “Yunho-hyung,” he said. 

“Regardless, these last four years with you have been the best of my life,” said Yunho.

Changmin wasn’t sure if he was ever going to be ever give him up, now. 

“So… will you marry me?”

“Yes,” Changmin said, not even bothering with sarcasm or distractions. He grabbed Yunho by both wrists and pulled, kissing him with his eyes shut, and keeping at it even as Yunho made a noise of protest and caught his right hand to put the ring on. “I’m picking the wedding rings,” Changmin told him, breathlessly. “Now get me out of this store before we turn it into a portal home.”

\--

It was after the honeymoon, after their more than a few failed weddings—who knew, of course, that the moment Yunho put his hands in Changmin’s mouth trying to cover him in frosting, that Changmin would end up on his knees riding him, marriage tuxedo in tatters around the both of them, and the entire wedding party vanished to who knows where around the time when Yunho put his mouth on Changmin’s dick--and the actual, Limbo-life _successful_ wedding, that Yunho and Changmin, lying in their blessedly wet spot free marriage bed, had the conversation that changed everything.

Changmin was lying on his side trying to get his breath back, dick slowly slipping free from between Yunho’s legs, twisting the wedding ring round and round Yunho’s finger. His cheek was resting on Yunho’s chest, listening to the beat of the man’s heart to match the etching on his own ring. 

It was possible he was whispering nonsense, or thinking it, at least. Mostly, he was thinking about how his own heartbeat was wrapped around Yunho’s ring finger like physical representation of their vows. 

“You know, I always—” Yunho started to say, then broke off rather abruptly. He went so blushingly embarrassed that Changmin swore he could feel the heat of it under his cheek.

“Hyung?” asked Changmin, smooshing his face further into the swell of Yunho’s pectorals and doing his best to look up at him.

“Never mind,” Yunho said, not meeting Changmin’s eyes. “It was—nothing.”

Changmin flopped onto his stomach, cock finally pulling free, and Yunho huffed out the air that movement forced out of his lungs audibly. “That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Yunho finally looked at him. He put a hand in Changmin’s hair, pet through the sweat-slick strands, then laughed. “Um, well,” he said.

Changmin kept looking at him, then dug his chin more than a little forcefully into the dip of Yunho’s chest. “Yes?”

“WhenIwasyoungerIusedtowanttobepregnant,” Yunho said in one giant gust of a sentence.

Changmin… had not been expecting that.

“Like really younger,” Yunho said. “Like… as a baby.” He laughed nervously. “According to my mom, at least. She’d say that I used to ask her when I could have one, about Jihye.”

Changmin thought about that, decided it was adorable, and leaned up to kiss him. 

Yunho seemed pleased about that and kissed him back, but in between pecks he breathed out, “So you’re not opposed, then?” like he’d asked Changmin a question, instead of just sharing adorable family history.

“To… your childhood memories?” said Changmin.

Yunho flushed again. “No, to, well. Kids,” he said.

Changmin blinked. He brought their mouths almost back together again, then stopped. “If I kiss you you’re going to take that as a yes, aren’t you?” he said.

Yunho swallowed. “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

Changmin nodded. “So yes, then.” He pulled back a second time. “I guess I should start buying the condoms. Dreaming the condoms.” He smirked. “I wouldn’t want you to let you get away with poking holes.”

Yunho’s eyes shut briefly. “I mean it’s not like I can actually get pregnant, Changdol,” he mumbled embarrassedly.  

Changmin went to nod again, then stopped. 

After two seconds of that, Yunho opened his eyes, almost nervously. “What?” He couldn’t seem to keep from glancing around Changmin’s entire face.

“Well… you could, here,” muttered Changmin.

There was a—pun very much not intended—pregnant pause. 

Yunho’s pupils dilated. “Oh,” he said.

Changmin kissed him so quickly he missed his mouth. “Yeah.”

Yunho was so still it was like he wasn’t even breathing. “Wouldn’t that be weird?” he said at the same time Changmin blurted, “I mean if you want—” and then they both stopped, not sure if they should laugh, or cry.

Changmin rolled them so that he was lying on his back and Yunho was half slumped up against him, perfectly capable of putting himself on Changmin’s cock bare if he wanted. “What if we just… altered the fabric of reality?” he said.

Yunho’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Altered the fabric of reality?” He eased a leg around Changmin’s hips but kept the other one kneeling up around Changmin’s ass. 

Changmin put both of his hands on Yunho’s waist, nodding. “Made it so that you could, if you wanted.” He left the decision to Yunho—no way would he object, to children with Yunho. Some part of him had been thinking about it for years, he felt like. Sure, not in this way—not biologically all the way both of theirs (Yunho’s projection of his sister may have gotten a few drunken voicemails about artificial insemination). But he’d thought about it.

Children.

With Yunho.

“I love you, Changdol-ah,” said Yunho. 

Taehee and Dohyun were born the year after—Limbo’s greatest miracle. They had Yeonhee two years after that. It was good, being married and having kids with Yunho. 

It was good for sixteen more years. 

\--

“Why do you keep track of that?” Yunho said, in a rare moment of silence when both of their twins were out with friends, and Yeonhee was doing homework upstairs in her room.

Changmin blinked, for a second confused, then looked at the paper calendar he was diligently marking with their number of days in Limbo. It had officially been twenty-two years and about a month, but Changmin liked the routine of keeping track physically. He’d been doing it for so long that none of their kids bothered with his collection of calendars. 

“You mean on paper?” he asked Yunho, recapping the pen with a flourish. The annoying thing about this being a dream was their ideas about the state of the world in whatever year it was ranged from practical to fantastical, and the continued existence of pens—actual, ink using pens—was probably both of those things. “I like it,” Changmin told Yunho. It made him feel like an action hero.

Yunho came over and peeled the calendar back to July. “No. Why do you keep track of—” He squinted, pausing, then found it in him to produce the English. “NDL,” he said, voice gone slow. “What does NDL stand for?”

Changmin stared at him. “Number of Days in Limbo,” he said in English. “Hyung—”

“Limbo?” said Yunho, flipping the calendar to June, then May, then back to September.  “Like, uncharted dream space? Why are you keeping track of that?” He found a smudge of ink next to where Changmin had penned ‘twenty-two years, thirty-six days’; the ink hadn’t been dry when he flipped the calendar, it seemed. 

Changmin just kept staring at him. “Yunho-hyung,” he said finally. “Where do you think we are?”

Yunho wet a finger with his tongue, then rubbed at the ink spot. “Seoul? Our house?” he gave up on the calendar, then grinned happily up at Changmin, crow’s feet prominent in the corners of his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten, Changdollie. You’d think you were the one pushing fifty-six.” 

Changmin couldn’t even find it in himself to make an age joke. “Hyung,” he said again. “Fuck. Hyung.” 

Yunho’s eyes went wide.

“No,” Changmin said quickly, brandishing the pen threateningly. “No. Fuck. Hyung. Stop poking me—”

Yunho was grinning ear to ear like they were in their thirties and actually could run off to fuck somewhere just because Changmin said the word a few times. 

“Do you think this is reality?” blurted Changmin, unable to contain himself.

Yunho shot him an odd look. “Uh… obviously,” he said. “Duh, Changdol. Are you sick, or something?” He looked very suddenly serious. “Hungover?” He moved like he was going to poke Changmin again.

Changmin slapped his hand away. “What? No? I listened to Doctor-nim!” Changmin said. “You’re distracting me!”

Yunho smiled at him, perfectly at ease. “Of course, it’s reality, Changdol,” he said. “You don’t think this is a dream.”

Changmin was having trouble finding words.

“Who would dream about us getting old and having babies?” Yunho continued, visibly amused now.

“Hyung,” Changmin tried.

“Appa!” Yeonhee called, interrupting. She was clearly calling for Yunho, even though she’d outgrown specifying ‘Yun-appa’ in all her sentences. There was a tone, and Changmin would rather eat his own hand than admit that Kyuhyun was right in saying that he used it too. “Come help explain the equation to me again! I don’t get it!”

Yunho exchanged a secret smile with Changmin that usually Changmin would give him right back— _kids—_ but at the moment, it only inspired more panic. What the fuck was going on—

“I thought you said my old-people methods weren’t helping, Daughter-yah!” Yunho shouted back, amused.

“Appa!” Yeonhee whined. “This is important! It’s like all of my grade!”

Now was where Changmin was supposed to mention that Yunho’s worst grades were in Math, and his old-people methods really were probably wrong. He didn’t. He just looked at Yunho, barely breathing. 

“Yun-appa!” Yeonhee wailed, bringing out the big guns.

Changmin went wistful, thinking of when she was three.

“Coming, light of my life!” called Yunho, shaking his head at Changmin. “Children,” he said conspiratorially, and then vanished to go help their daughter with her homework. 

That was the day it started—the day Yunho realized he had forgotten—and their perfectly crafted happily ever after started to show the cracks. 

 

* * *

 

They had three screaming, drag-down fights about it, thankfully when their children were at school or out with friends. Yunho thought Changmin was trying to insult his intelligence by bringing it up constantly, and Changmin was just so afraid it was memory loss because of real world dementia— _don’t end up in Limbo_ , everyone in dreamshare had warned, _you’ll end up with scrambled brains—_ that he couldn’t seem to stop doing so.

They never came to blows. They tore each other to pieces verbally, far too reminiscent of their Project Somnacin days, which of course Yunho could remember perfectly, but some reason couldn’t retain anything about Crebeau. It was almost intriguing the way he’d manage to tune out everything related to them ending up here—in Limbo—and no matter of asking could get him to show Changmin his totem. Instead Yunho got angry--accused Changmin of all sorts of things, like Changmin knew his tie to reality for any reason beyond them being desperately and completely in love with each other. 

“You told me!” Changmin cried at one point.

“Yeah, okay!” Yunho replied, which didn’t make any sense, and later he admitted he didn’t mean—of course he’d shown Changmin his totem; he loved him. 

Showing him _Changmin’s_ totem didn’t do anything either. Changmin could shout on about how his grandmother’s lighter _wouldn’t even burn_ _in reality_ , let alone burn _fucking purple_ until he was blue in the face; Yunho was having none of it.

He said Changmin was guilting him into giving him his own totem and then got fucking… shifty when Changmin told him just go check it _alone_ , then.

It got bad enough that the kids finally noticed, Dohyun showing up in their bedroom doorway worrying at the hem of his nightshirt and the skin of his bottom lip. “Appa?” he said, meaning Yunho. “Are you—do you not love Chwang-appa, anymore?” They always called Changmin ‘Chwang-appa’ when they added the modifier, never mind Dohyun and Taehee were _seventeen_ now, and definitely old enough to properly say ‘chang.’

Yunho made a punched sounding noise and sat up, patting the bed between them. “ _No_ ,” he said, expression dire, and all three of their teenage children piled in. “Of course I still love your father,” Yunho said overtop Dohyun’s head. He stroked fingers through Yeonhee’s hair, pressed kisses to Taehee’s ear. “I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t.” And he was looking at Changmin when he said that, eyes serious.

Changmin breathed back a sob, then grabbed him by the hand in their daughter’s hair and brought it to his mouth so that he could kiss it. 

It was later, that Yunho told him, after their very teenage children had conceded that they were finally too big to all sleep with their parents. Changmin very kindly reminded Taehee of the time when she kept threatening to fight him for Yunho, which did wonders to send them all fleeing back to their rooms in embarrassment.

Yunho dragged Changmin in for a very long, very overdue kiss once they were gone. They didn’t have sex—too raw and aware of said teenage children for that—but Changmin still shut his eyes and mapped the crevices of Yunho’s mouth until his own lips were sore. 

Yunho said, voice so quiet Changmin had to strain to hear him, “I can’t find my totem, Changdol-ah.” 

Changmin had been expecting this, had gone so far as to be dreading this, all the horrifying explanations and reasoning behind that spinning around in the back of his mind until their children realized something was wrong. 

“But I don’t think I lost it,” Yunho continued in a small voice. He tucked his chin into the divot of Changmin’s bare chest and paused. “I think I hid it somewhere,” he confessed finally.

Changmin kissed him on the top of the head, heart going haywire. “Do you know where?” was all he managed.

Yunho sat up a little, shifting in the dark so that he could squint down at Changmin, worry putting furrows in between his brows and in the corners of his eyes. “No,” he said, and he sounded angry about it. “I think—I could probably find it if I looked for it, but every time I try—” He broke off, trying to turn away from Changmin on the bed. 

Changmin wrapped around him like an octopus and gently urged him down so that they could lie intertwined.  “You forget,” he said quietly, pointedly not looking at Yunho until he relaxed. 

“Yeah.” Yunho let his muscles go boneless against Changmin, almost like giving up the fight they’d been having since Changmin started pestering him. “Sorry—”

Changmin kissed him to stop him before he could finish that sentence. “Don’t apologize,” he said when he was doing. “God. Yunho-hyung—” 

Changmin was the one stopping now, not even sure what to say. He’d gone over his memories of the last twenty-two years religiously and the only time he could even remember Yunho being weird was after he had Yeonhee. But Changmin had just chalked that up to postpartum depression—had even had a drunken laugh about it with Kyuhyun, who of course didn’t get the humor of the situation, nor understood that it was weird that Yunho was pregnant. Projections. Most of their friends were so realistic Changmin forgot they weren’t real, but their inability to understand why it wasn’t normal for Yunho to be popping out kids certainly ruined the effect. 

Yeonhee was fifteen, and the thought that Yunho having done this—of maybe _Changmin_ having done this to Yunho— _fifteen years ago_ and then Changmin not even noticing was terrible.

Changmin didn’t know how he was supposed to handle that.

Yunho kissed him suddenly. “Changdol-ah,” he said, eyes shining in the dark. “You didn’t do this to me.”

Changmin opened his mouth to protest. They didn’t know for certain, after all.

“I did this to me.” Yunho certainly sounded pretty damn serious. 

Changmin still wasn’t sure; couldn’t help but try to protest. 

Yunho didn’t let him. “I did this to me,” he said again, and looked so damn emphatic about it Changmin was ready to let him have it for that alone. “I was all messed up because of Yeonhee.” He stopped talking, cheeks going pink and embarrassed. “But I loved her, so I—I just took my totem and made it tick backwards and hid it.” 

He looked almost shocked when he finished, like he didn’t realize he was going to produce the thought or explanation until he did, and part of Changmin wanted to be intrigued. “Like... inception?” he tried to ask at the same time Yunho laughed a little hysterically and then clapped a hand over his mouth. 

“Oh my God,” he said. “Changminnie I did inception. On myself. I incepted myself—” 

Changmin kissed him again because after twenty-two years of marriage, he could tell when Yunho was about to work himself into a sweat. It always started with throat clearing, and Changmin still couldn’t quite handle that particular brand of orange juice. But then, that was what practice was for, Changmin guessed. They hadn’t gone in blind enough to end up trapped with a militarized subconscious since. 

“Thanks,” Yunho said after. 

“No problem,” Changmin replied. “But, Hyung—” 

“We have to find it,” Yunho said suddenly, twisting so that he could take Changmin by both cheeks like he was going to try inception a second time. 

Changmin tilted back as best he could to avoid colliding noses and going cross eyed. “Yeah okay,” he said. 

Yunho opened his mouth to argue. 

“Tomorrow,” Changmin offered. “Once the kids go to school.” 

Yunho’s mouth tipped open. “The kids,” he said, in the sort of tone he used when he realized the kids were old enough to be the worst kind of cockblock. On the one hand—sex is what made the kids to begin with, and every time Changmin looked at all their ears, some part of him was going ‘that’s mine I did that I made that with Hyung and nobody else did.’ On the other—sex where the kids could hear was very much a no. 

Changmin couldn’t help but shiver in response. “Yes,” he said, shifting so that he could get Yunho’s hands off his face and also better control of his libido. “Yes,” he said. “Our kids.” 

Yunho was still kind of glassy-eyed, so Changmin hit him on the arm. “Yah,” he said. “Don’t be creepy.” 

Yunho just smirked at him, eyes half lidded and sleepy. “Like you weren’t thinking about it as well.” 

Changmin didn’t flatter that with a reply. “We can look for your totem after the kids go to school,” which was just sobering enough to drain Yunho’s smile off his face. 

He sighed, but better snuggled up to Changmin on the bed. “I don’t know where it is,” he said, voice getting nearly swallowed by a yawn. 

Changmin pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, shoulders relaxing. “That’s fine,” he said. “We can just spin up around with your eyes closed and let gravity decide.” He snickered, thinking about it. “Pin the tail on the where is your totem,” he said. 

Yunho shoved him. “For that, you’re waking up Yeonhee,” he said. 

Changmin shuddered. “You wouldn’t.” The only person who could consistently wake their youngest without getting verbally assaulted with an unfair amount of sarcastic intelligence (Changmin’s fault entirely; he wasn’t about to try to deny that those were his genes) was Yunho, and that was only because Yunho was absolutely Yeonhee’s favorite, no matter what she’d tell you. 

Yunho was definitely smiling at him, because Changmin could feel it even though he couldn’t see it. It was like rain affecting people’s bad limbs; Yunho smiled, lit up the room, and Changmin could tell. “You’re the one who made the joke.”

Changmin growled, then rolled so that he could pin Yunho to the bed, both wrists held up by the pillows, legs fallen open so that Changmin could lie between then. “You’d make jokes too, if you worried the love of your life was—” He broke off, that last be registering, and colored so abruptly it ruined the whole menacing, pinning thing he had going. 

Yunho stared up at him with giant, innocent eyes. “I’m sorry?” he said. “The love of your life what?” 

Changmin growled at him some more. “You are,” he enunciated. “What if we can’t fix you--” He swallowed the end of that sentence, unable to even put it into words. Into being. Into—Changmin wanted to laugh--reality. 

Yunho twisted both his hands free and reached up to palm Changmin’s cheek. The military absolutely had not taught him that, and Changmin absolutely did not find the move hot. “Changdol-ah,” he said gently. “Look at me.” 

“I am looking at you,” said Changmin.

“Everything is going to be fine,” Yunho told him. “You’re going to be able to fix me. You can do anything, here.” He paused purposefully. “In Limbo.”

Changmin could tell he still didn’t believe it, but he let him say it and comfort him anyway. 

 

* * *

 

In the end, they found Yunho’s totem so easily Changmin was almost amazed. Yunho woke first that morning, pressing a kiss to Changmin’s forehead and reminding him he was in charge of waking their youngest, and once Changmin emerged from Yeonhee’s bedroom wondering if he should be proud or terrified of their daughter, he found Yunho and both the twins sitting at the breakfast table staring at him like he was this morning’s entertainment. They rode the subway with all three kids straight to school, sent them off with kisses and waving and general parental embarrassment, before popping back on for their one paradoxical stop home.

The train didn’t take them back to their house, though. Instead, they ended up in a neighborhood of memories.

“That was the first house we lived in,” Yunho said, pointing as they were walking. “When I was a baby. My parents weren’t in it very long, though. Once they had Jihye, we moved—” He stopped, pointing again. “There.” He tilted his head to the side. “We lived there until I joined the army and got my first stipend.” He didn’t elaborate, but Changmin understood what that would have been like. “I think it’s here,” Yunho decided, and went to push open the door.

It was.

They went through the family room back towards the bedrooms, and Yunho went almost in a trance to the bed he said had been his. “Here,” he said, after he’d pulled a shoebox out from under it and set it on the bed. “I think—” He stopped, peeking down at what Changmin could tell were obviously important keepsakes. He picked up a piggybank, and after a pause, smashed it open on the floor.

Changmin jumped back, startled, but Yunho was immediately on his knees sifting through what he’d found. These were obviously the more important things—concert tickets, friendship bracelets, scraps of paper with ‘I want to be a dancer’ written in them so hard the paper ripped—and right in the middle, Yunho’s grandfather’s pocket-watch.

He picked it up and for a few moments just held it in his hand. 

Changmin knelt down next to him, afraid to see.

Yunho clicked the watch open. 

They both watched the minute hand tick backwards for almost a minute. 

“They said it wasn’t possible,” Changmin couldn’t help but whisper.

Yunho said, “We need to go home eventually, Changminnie.”

Changmin reached out like he was going take the watch, then thought better of it. Totems were the one thing their projections got upset about. Back in 2019, when they were figuring out the limits of Limbo itself, Changmin had handed Yunho his lighter, and the old lady sharing the train with them looked about ten seconds from strangling the man. Changmin thought it was probably a side-effect of how clear things were here. Just like how Yunho never could talk about Crebeau, because doing so would require an acknowledgement of something he’d obviously wanted to forget, given what he’d done to himself.

“I want to go home, Changminnie,” Yunho said. “I won’t go with you when it’s like this.” 

Then he stood. He put the watch on the ground among his treasures, brushed a hand over the top of Changmin’s head, and then left his childhood home.

Changmin let him go because he was honestly so surprised, staring down at the watch like he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. “Yunho-hyung?” he said automatically, even as the fingers on his right hand reached down to pick up the watch. “What am I supposed to do?”

 _Tick forwards_ , Changmin thought immediately, gaze fixed on the watch. _Tick forwards. This is a dream. It’s not real._ After two beats and a wiggle, the minute hand started a new rotation clockwise.

Changmin knelt and held Yunho’s totem and waited for Yunho’s projections to come tear him apart. 

They didn’t.

Thirty years later, Yunho and Changmin built themselves Pont Neuf for the last time and stepped off the edge to wake up three hours later in 2018. 

Changmin thought that was the worst moment of his life, honestly, sitting in Yunho’s childhood bedroom planting ideas in his fucking _mind_ , but then they were fleeing a hotel with most of their aliases burned and useless, and while Changmin had a lifetime of memories of being happy and married and parents and grandparents, and Yunho had… nothing.

Yunho didn’t remember a thing, in 2018.

That was probably the actual worst moment in Changmin’s life. Until that night. Until September. 

Until now, back on that fucking beach.

“Changdol-ah,” Yunho breathes, remembering. “Changdol- _ah—_ ” 

“Don’t—please,” Changmin interrupts, heart breaking. 

_Don’t hate me._

_Don’t leave me._

_Don’t go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~SCAR. JYP IS IN THIS CHAPTER FOR YOU. SCAR--~~
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	10. Limbo | February 2019

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that was originally like 15,000 words so I split it. You’re welcome.

Yunho breaks the silence first, but Changmin thinks that’s only fair, honestly. They’re standing on the damn beach and Taehee has vanished off with her children—safely non-existent in this new world. Changmin is almost curious about that—he and Yunho are their 2019 ages again—but even though the scientist in him is practically salivating, that line of thought is far too similar to their first lifetime here, so Changmin mostly just wants to cry.

He sniffs, lungs already straining.

“Changdol—”

Changmin puts up a hand, the other covering his mouth. “No, don’t,” he says through his own fingers. “Don’t—” he pauses, disgusted with himself.

Yunho moves toward him, hands reaching out with hesitation to grab Changmin or hug him, or something, and Changmin’s nose feels so clogged he can’t breathe. 

“Don’t fucking—comfort me,” he gets out finally, swiping angrily at his nose and tipping his head back. He won’t cry. It’s not fair. Changmin can’t cry about this. The sun shines into his eyes and it hurts but Changmin deserves it so he keeps looking.

Yunho’s hands, hesitant in their gentleness, settle onto Changmin’s shoulders. “Changminnie—”

“Please,” Changmin begs, not shrugging Yunho off only because he’s too busy trying not to start sobbing; what little tenuous control he’s gathered vanished the moment he felt Yunho’s hands on him. “Not for this, Yunho-hyung.” He loses a tear and hates himself, rubs at it furiously. He glares at the sun like it’s its fault. “Fucking,” he swears. “Dust—”

Yunho steps closer and pulls him into a hug, chin hooking over Changmin’s shoulder and hands smoothing over Changmin’s back and shoulder blades.

“Yunho-hyung,” Changmin whispers.

“I’m so angry at you, Shim Changmin,” Yunho says, voice clear and straightforward.

Changmin laughs, which somehow doesn’t become a sob.

“Is that better?” Yunho continues, holding Changmin harder now, like he knew the words were going to make Changmin try to pull away; like he knew Changmin was biding his time to fight away from his comfort. “Will you let me hold you, now—”

“Don’t patronize me,” Changmin snarls, twisting in Yunho’s grip so that they go staggering up the beach, wet feet and pants dragging through the sand. Changmin didn’t even notice they waves had reached them.

Yunho doesn’t let him go, clutches him harder, and presses an angry, burning mouth to the bare skin of Changmin’s neck. “You do not get to beat yourself up about this,” he says, even as Changmin starts fighting him in earnest. 

It’s surprisingly difficult. Yunho, it seems, has turned into some kind of aggressive octopus, and appears to have limbs everywhere. Changmin does his best without fighting dirty—he could headbutt Yunho or get him in the groin, but that seems unnecessary—and still goes down in a startled tangle of his own limbs, breath getting knocked out of him. He’s not nearly as confused feeling as he should be—they were both standing, after all—but a quick head-check reveals why.

“Did you just dream us a mattress in the middle of this fucking beach?” shouts Changmin, not even sure what to be mad about first. It feels like all of the air in his lungs has been pushed out by Yunho landing on him, his ears might be ringing, and yet Yunho’s still perfectly composed with his entire pelvis settled neatly between Changmin’s legs and both hands pinning down Changmin’s wrists. Changmin tests their give reflexively, then hisses when Yunho’s grip tightens in response. 

“I know—that really would have been useful the first time around,” says Yunho, with honest amusement. 

Changmin tries to shake him off, shuddering. “Don’t,” he says again, heart pounding. “Don’t talk about—” He can’t finish that sentence.

Yunho looks down at him with surprising calm. “Our first time?” he says quietly.

Changmin doesn’t know what to do with this version of Yunho. This version of Yunho who remembers and who knows. He bites back more fucking sobs. “Yunho-hyung,” he says. “Please.”

Yunho looks at him and then purposefully gentles the clench of his hands. “I remember everything, Changdol-ah,” he says, equally gently.

Changmin stares back up at him helplessly. “Please.” 

For a moment, Changmin thinks Yunho is going to force the issue, and then he lets go of Changmin’s wrists and drops down very suddenly onto Changmin’s chest, cheek smooshed into the fabric of Changmin’s dress shirt. It’s still bloody—still marked up with Yunho’s blood—and some of it flakes off onto Yunho’s face. Changmin looks at the spatter on Yunho’s cheekbones and makes a choked noise when he sees it. He almost reaches to touch, fingers moving before he can think better of it, and Yunho sees, and frowns, and then he lifts back up off Changmin’s chest.

Both of their shirts are very abruptly replaced by clean ones. 

Yunho puts both his elbows on either side of Changmin’s face, then stares. “Changdol-ah.”

Changmin can’t look at him, turns his head so that he doesn’t have to. “You can’t forgive me,” he gets out finally. “You. You’re not allowed.”

Yunho tilts around so that Changmin has to see him, trapped as he is frozen underneath him with both hands still up by his ears. He pulls them down, hovers them awkwardly around Yunho’s waist, not sure if he should push him away or hold him close.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Changmin,” says Yunho in a tone that says he’s not really opposed to that.

Changmin abruptly shuts his mouth on a reply, and Yunho immediately sobers. The amusement dims behind his eyes and his expression goes serious. “Changdol-ah.” He’s talking like Changmin’s some sort of traumatized animal, like he’s been found with a paw stuck in a trap or a broken wing, and Yunho is the kind citizen come to free him, come to nurse him back to health and let him fly.

If Changmin has to hear that tone of voice from Yunho one more time he’s going to lose it. 

“You can’t tell me not to forgive you, Changmin,” says Yunho quietly, very kindly not forcing Changmin to look at him anymore. “That’s not how that works.”

Changmin juts his chin out stubbornly. “You can’t forgive me,” he mumbles again, finally setting his hands down at his sides. He lies still under Yunho. 

“You can choose to say ‘I’m sorry,’’’ says Yunho.

“I am sorry,” Changmin can’t help but reply.

“And I can choose to forgive you,” finishes Yunho, expression almost fond, not quite sad. “Or not, I guess.” He tries out a smile. “If I didn’t. But I do—”

“You shouldn’t,” says Changmin quickly. It’s closer to the truth than he’d wanted; his breathing picks up in a panic.

“Ah,” says Yunho. “Well, there it is.” 

He’s so calm Changmin wants to strangle him.

“Why shouldn’t I forgive you?” asks Yunho reasonably.

Changmin stares up at him with his mouth fallen open, tempted to just laugh. “Because I—” He’s having trouble putting it into words. “I incepted—”

“You saved me,” Yunho says succinctly, cutting Changmin off. “We needed to leave Limbo. You helped me leave Limbo.”

Changmin can’t do more but stare at him some more.

“Changdol,” Yunho says, tone patronizing again. “I understand you want me to stay mad at you—”

“Do you?” spits Changmin, picking his hands up and putting them on Yunho’s hips. “Do you really, Yunho-hyung?”

Yunho narrows his eyes at him, not meriting that a response. “But it’s not your decision. You don’t get to dictate what I feel. What I think.” His gaze goes dark. “You’d think you’d understand that especially, given how hung up you seem to be on doing things to me without my permission.”

Changmin makes a noise like Yunho’s shot him in the chest, and his grip goes punishingly tight on Yunho’s waist. It’s a little counterintuitive; Yunho’s expression blips briefly with a wince, and _Changmin_ is the one who ought to be punished—not Yunho.

“Oh, Changdol, no,” Yunho says quickly. “I promise, I remember, and I asked you to—”

“You shouldn’t forgive me,” Changmin says again like a broken record. “I—”

Yunho’s brows lift condescendingly and Changmin growls.

“I wouldn’t forgive me,” he finally spits, relieved for all of two seconds about it.

Yunho shifts his weight on top of Changmin, eyes kind and far too knowing. “And therein lies the rub,” he quotes.

Changmin snarls up at him. “Oh, fuck you—” he spits, then breaks off on a yelp when Yunho pointedly rocks down, drawing both of their attentions to the fact that they’re still pressed together rather indecently. 

“I can’t make you forgive yourself,” Yunho says, unfairly calmly. “Just like you can’t make me not forgive you—”

Changmin has to work a little to follow those double negatives. 

“But I wish you would,” continues Yunho, smiling painfully again. It’s an apologetic, ‘sorry for pinning you to this mattress and tricking you into admitting your fears, Changmin’ sort of smile. “I forgive you,” Yunho finishes. “I believe you deserve my forgiveness.” He lowers his voice. “I really did ask you to do it, Changminnie. I know I didn’t say it out loud but I left you there with my totem—”

Changmin tosses his head against the mattress. “That’s not it!” He finally gets leverage, manages to push himself up and send Yunho sliding off of him until he gets up on his knees. “It isn’t just the inception,” says Changmin angrily. He puts a hand on Yunho’s chest when the other man leans in like he’s going to speak. “What I did to you,’ Changmin clarifies. He bites his own lip, not sure how to continue. How to confess.

Yunho furrows his brow at him. “Changmin, it’s fine,” he says. “It’s not really a big deal. I didn’t know it was a dream; you helped me see that it was. Really, you were just undoing what I’d already done to myself—resetting me, if you will—”

“You didn’t stop!” interrupts Changmin, feeling like the beach is going to swallow him whole the moment it comes out. He can’t bring himself to meet Yunho’s eyes, and settles for pushing Yunho back enough so that Changmin can crawl out from under him, tucking his knees up to his chin and wrapping both arms around them.

Yunho waits a beat—“Changdol.”—and then puts his hands on Changmin’s shoulders.

This time Changmin has the strength to shake him off. “Fuck, Hyung,” he tells his knees. “Just let it go.”

Yunho doesn’t touch him again for a long moment, and then he says, “Changmin, I love you,” and Changmin has to squeeze both eyes closed to keep from reacting. 

“Could you just not?” 

Yunho pauses. “Not love you?” he asks after a breath. “No, sorry, that doesn’t work that way either—”

Changmin lifts his head, eyes red rimmed and lashes clumping. “Yunho-hyung,” he snaps.

Yunho shuts his mouth around the teasing, then reaches out and drops a hand around the back of Changmin’s neck. He tugs until Changmin has no choice but to go slumped up against him, shoulders drawn up in one last ditch effort to stay mad at him. His knees end up on the bed between them, both hands resting anxiously on the mattress, head pulled in close to Yunho’s collarbones. “I do, though,” says Yunho. “Love you, that is.” He presses a kiss to Changmin’s head and Changmin flinches. “You aren’t allowed to take that from me,” he says.

Changmin turns his head until his forehead is pressing into the divot of Yunho’s clavicles, stares down at the rise and fall of Yunho’s chest. He shuts his eyes. “I know you know this is a dream,” he tells Yunho finally. “You—you always know it’s a dream,” he explains badly.

Yunho shifts over him. “What—”

“When we woke up,” hurries to say Changmin. “In July. After Crebeau.”

He feels Yunho nod.

“I just thought it was shock,” Changmin says, not moving. When Yunho releases him, he stays right where he is, head tucked under Yunho’s chin, hands motionless in his own lap. “When you didn’t remember.” He finally sits up and back, takes in the involuntary downturn of Yunho’s mouth, the infinitesimal lift of his shoulders. That’s what Yunho’s angry at Changmin for, it seems. The lying. Changmin doesn’t want to continue, doesn’t want to explain, and make Yunho see that the lying isn’t important, in the grand scheme of what he’s done to him. Somehow he manages anyway. “But you did remember,” he says. 

Yunho’s brow creases. 

“That first night,” Changmin gets out. “You remembered.”

Yunho frowns at him, obviously confused, and clearly ready to argue. 

Changmin halts him with a look. “Not about us,” he amends quickly. “Not about.” He clears his throat. “Our relationship.” He notices for the first time that he’s been twisting his wedding ring around his finger but can’t get himself to stop. “Our marriage. Our… family.”

Yunho’s eyes flash again; he’s definitely mad at Changmin for not telling him about that. About the lifetime they spent together.

Changmin gets it. 

Changmin had good reason. 

Changmin says, “You remembered it was a dream,” and Yunho freezes, protests dying before they can leave his tongue. “What?”

“We got our own rooms,” Changmin recounts, retreating far away from any sort of emotions pertaining to the situation. “You didn’t remember. I was—not about to push it.”  He snorts self-deprecatingly, thinking about how tired they’d both been despite having slept for an entire lifetime. “Which was fine,” Changmin lies. 

Yunho very clearly doesn’t believe him, but Changmin continues. 

“I went to sleep,” he says, glossing over how long it took, how he kept reaching for Yunho, how he kept wondering what he’d do if Yunho never remembered, how he kept wondering how to tell Yunho, if he should wait for the memories to come back. “I woke up when you broke into my room with a gun,” Changmin says. 

Yunho has gone so still it’s like he’s frozen solid, but Changmin can’t do anything but go on, now that he’s started.

“I don’t know where you got it—for all I know you’d been smuggling it around hotels the entire time.” He laughs, mind gone far away. Back to July. Back to that hotel room. Back to that moment. “You told me we needed to go home,” Changmin says, voice barely audible. “And then you went to put the gun in your mouth and I—” There aren’t any words for how it felt, watching that. “I hit it out of your hands and shouted at you,” Changmin explains, reliving the entire experience like some sort of sick kind of nightmare. “But you were insistent.” 

Yunho stares at him with unreadable eyes, but Changmin’s too busy trapped in his own memories. He remembers how Yunho looked, that night. He remembers how his hands shook, how he held Yunho by the wrists so hard there were bruises the next morning, how he couldn’t get his lungs to stop hyperventilating. 

“You were convinced that we were still in Limbo,” he simplifies. “I had to promise you we’d leave the next morning.” 

He doesn’t mention how he dragged Yunho to bed with him, wrapped around him like they were still married, and how Yunho let him, already half asleep. He doesn’t mention how he snuck out of the hotel room once Yunho’d gone to sleep, how he took apart every piece of Yunho’s luggage and disassembled every piece of weaponry.

He doesn’t talk about how Yunho looked at him, over breakfast. The way he squinted, the way he almost seemed like he’d say something.

Yunho clears his throat. “I don’t remember that,” he says. 

Changmin smiles, but it’s not a happy expression. “No,” he says. “You never do.” 

And Yunho moves like Changmin’s punched him, breaths coming in gingerly. “‘Do,’ present tense,” he says. It’s not a question. 

“It hasn’t happened since we started sleeping together,”  Changmin says miserably. “And you were never very fond of weapons.” He pauses, then flushes. “Not like that—since we started sleeping in the same room,” he amends. 

He can see the moment Yunho realizes Changmin’s been insisting on shared rooms for months—been keeping what little weapons they carry in his own bag or on his own person for _months_. 

“ _Changdol-ah_ ,” Yunho says, like a prayer. 

“It’s why I didn’t tell you,” says Changmin. He licks his lips. “Why I—” His voice cracks. “Didn’t want to kiss you—” 

Yunho sucks in another shocked breath. “ _Changdol-ah_ ,” he says again. 

“I couldn’t risk you remembering,” Changmin whispers, more to himself than anyone. “I couldn’t—” _Lose you_ , he can’t bring himself to finish. He breathes in and out, unfairly relieved. It’s out there, now. All of it. Every dark secret laid bare, washed on the shores of the beach that started it. 

If Changmin turns his head, he can see the foundations of that elevator they built, years ago. Metalwork aged with rust but somehow still standing—the one thing they could never get Limbo to let go of. 

He bites back a sob, wipes at his tears, and then rolls his shoulders back. He looks out at the ocean. “So now you know,” he says. 

He doesn’t meet Yunho’s eyes.

After a beat, Changmin hears Yunho shifting on the mattress, then feels Yunho’s head drop onto his shoulder, and he flinches. “Hyung—” 

“I love you,” Yunho says hoarsely, like he’s the one who’s been crying. “God, I love you, Changdol, but I’m so mad at you.” 

Changmin tightens both hands into fists but Yunho grabs them and uncurls them, them holds them in his own. 

“Stop that. Not like that. Not for that. Not for incepting me,” Yunho says, voice going briefly frustrated. “For not telling me. For. Letting me—kiss you—” He stops talking, throat sounding clogged. “God, Changminnie, you didn’t know.” He squeezes Changmin’s hands. “I didn’t know. It’s not your fault.” 

Changmin lets his own head fall to rest atop Yunho. “I missed you,” he whispers. “So much. I—I _missed you—_ ”  

And Yunho turns to him, hauls him forward and falls backwards and gets them down onto the bed immediately, leans up into Changmin’s mouth and kisses him, eyes wet with tears. “Changdol-ah,” he says. “Changdol I’m sorry—”  

Changmin lies on top of him and wants to laugh. “We’re a mess,” he says finally. “An embarrassment to our reputation in reality.” 

Yunho grins down at him. “I don’t care,” he says quietly. “We’re allowed.” 

Changmin needs to kiss him again. “Not even when it’ll ruin your record of only crying once a year?”

Yunho blinks at him. “People believe that?” 

Changmin snickers, then cuddles him better. “People make bets on that. Also when you’ll drink alcohol.” 

Yunho is looking at him like he’s rethinking  all of their friendships and business relationships. “No,” he says. 

Changmin kisses him on the nose. “Yes,” he says. “It gets boring, waiting around on jobs.” 

Yunho doesn’t look comforted. 

“You’re infamous?” Changmin tries. “People think about you when you’re not in the room?” 

That seems to work, because Yunho looks less annoyed, and more pleasantly surprised. “Oh, well.” 

Changmin can’t help but kiss him on the nose again. He waggles his brows. “You’re hot, Yunho-hyung. People talk about you. Want to be you. Want to be me because I get to see all of you.” 

Yunho goes pinked cheeked and startled. “Changmin!” 

“What?” Changmin tries out a smile. “Too soon?” His chest feels like it’s caved in. “I still think it always will be—”

Yunho breaks him off with a hand on his lips, this time. “No,” he says. “No more self-flagellation,” he says. “We’re here—in Limbo, again.”

Changmin stares. “And?”

“We’ll fix it,” Yunho says. “Look, you put the watch away, afterwards right?” 

Changmin isn’t sure. “I guess?”

Yunho sits back up, tugging Changmin with him. He gets to his feet, holds out a hand. “So then we go find it and take it with us, this time,” he says.

Changmin stares up at his palm, afraid to breathe. Can it really be that easy?

“But you have to spend more time in my house, this time,” says Yunho, when Changmin takes his hand. “My parents were old school.”

Changmin lets Yunho haul him to his feet. “Oh?”

“VHS tapes,” Yunho says. “Tons.”

Changmin has to admit, he’d like to see that. 

“But you have to show me yours if I show you mine,” Yunho says, starting to walk along the beach. The layout of the world they’d created is slowly coming back to Changmin, a nagging thought telling him they should be going right, past all the grocery stores, all the shopping malls. The oddly located and surprisingly accurate rendition of Dongdaemun Design Plaza. 

“Yeah, okay,” he tells Yunho as they walk. He can’t remember what his parents have—some photo albums, maybe?

Yunho lets go of Changmin’s hand briefly to reach for Changmin’s ear. “I want to see baby you’s ears,” he says mischievously. “You passed them on to all three of our children, after all.”

Changmin sucks in a startled breath, but as quick as the touch had come, it retreats. 

Yunho gets him by the hand again and starts to swing their arms together on every step.

 “I regret marrying you,” Changmin manages finally.

Yunho grins. “No you don’t.”

He’s not wrong.

Changmin ducks his head and walks fast enough so that he’s the one leading. “Come on,” he says. “You’re going the wrong way.”

Yunho laughs loudly but follows.

 

* * *

 

Of course, it couldn’t be that easy. Yunho’s piggybank is where it was the last time under the bed, and all the ticket stubs and concert memorabilia are where they’d left them, but Yunho’s grandfather’s watch is nowhere to be seen.

“Well, fuck,” Yunho says when they’re finished dumping the content of the ceramic pig onto his floor. They’re standing together awkwardly over the pile, shoulders touching, and Changmin keeps flicking his gaze to Yunho’s entire wall of H.O.T. posters. 

“No kidding,” Changmin says, but he’s not about to make a big fuss about it again. “Maybe it’s somewhere else this time.”

He eyes the trappings of Yunho and Jihye’s bedroom doubtfully, but somehow manages to muster a smile when Yunho looks at him.  

“You just want to see my porn collection,” Yunho says, but crosses the room to lift the mattress all by himself without prompting. The move pulls his arms taught under his shirt, and Changmin feels warmth bloom in his groin.

“It’s not my fault this is a dream,” Changmin says, only stumbling slightly at the immediate swell of guilt that statement brings. “I mean it’s basic extraction 101,” he amends quickly. “although we’d be better off in a bank, maybe.”

As if summoned, the walls of Yunho’s bedroom rumble almost forbiddingly, and Yunho frowns. “Hey, no,” he says, eyes glinting with control. “We are not turning my childhood home into a bank.” The walls almost sigh disappointedly, no doubt eager to please after so many years without company, and Yunho shoots them a look Changmin remembers him giving their teenage children. 

The guilt is back in spades, but Changmin tucks it away down deep before Yunho can notice.

“Control yourself, Changminnie, please,” Yunho says, no doubt noticing—his gaze is kinder suddenly, and Changmin fights the urge to wrap his arms around himself—but having the wherewithal not to comment. His shoulders are still bunched under the weight of the mattress and his voice is commanding, and as he shifts to drop the thing to the side without so much as a heavy breath, Changmin decides that he hates the fact that it means the only usable bed left in the room belonged to Yunho’s baby sister.

“Sorry,” Changmin says apologetically, feeling his cheeks warm with embarrassment. “I forgot what it was like, here.” It’s more like he refused to let himself remember what it was like, spent all his regimented alone time with the PASIV purposefully only one level down so that he wouldn’t be tempted. If they took two level jobs, it was only if very necessary. And never did he think about going back down by himself. Yunho needed him.

But no way is Changmin going to say any of that. He stares at Yunho, hoping to heck that none of his torment shows.

Yunho stares back at him, expression showing he’s more aware of what Changmin’s not sharing than Changmin would like him to be, but also just a shade soulful enough to indicate that he still feels bad about that. Changmin kind of wants to shake him, but he’s doing his best to get over that. It will probably be a while before he can forgive himself, certainly, but the least he can do is try. 

For Yunho, if nothing else.

“Changdol,” Yunho says, and his tone is gentle, but his eyes are sharp and hard.

Changmin swallows but doesn’t apologize. 

For a moment, Yunho’s mouth downturns in despair. Then he rallies, trying on a smile. “We sure are a pair, aren’t we,” he says with false bravado, clearly aiming for carefree, but solidly failing. “Both of us sorry and neither of us holding grudges… or happy about that fact.”

Changmin can’t help but smile back, stepping in close so that he can loop his arms around Yunho’s neck and heave a sigh against the skin of Yunho’s cheek.

Yunho’s hands end up propped on the small of Changmin’s back, his mien wry. “I forgive you, Changdol,” he breathes into Changmin’s mouth. His fingers ruck up Changmin’s shirt until he finds bare skin, and he lets out an exhale. 

Changmin hums back, unable to help himself from nosing the skin beside Yunho’s ear. He breathes, mouth pressed to the side of Yunho’s forehead, then steps back, gaze fixed on Yunho’s G.O.D. poster. “Did you have a hard on for acronyms, or something?” he says, in an attempt to change the subject.

Yunho makes a noise of protest, but Changmin just keeps going, turning his attention next to Jihye’s magazine cut outs. The juxtaposition is striking. 

“Changmin,” Yunho whines.

“I know,” Changmin says, reaching out to finger the rounded corner of a Vogue spread. “I forgive you too.”

Yunho makes another little noise, and Changmin finally turns his attention fully to him, one brow raised. Yunho just waves him off. He turns to the naked bed, bending to pull out a surprisingly tall stack of magazines. The covers leave absolutely nothing to the imagination, and Changmin is honestly shocked. 

“What?” he starts to say.

“This is absolutely your influence,” Yunho tells him dryly, as Changmin further leans over to investigate. 

He tugs one free of Yunho’s grip, mouth agape. The magazines are surprisingly glossy and HD for having been from Yunho’s childhood, but then, that’s Limbo. Besides, Changmin wagers real life Yunho wasn’t self-aware enough to be jerking off to gay porn magazines, anyway. And certainly not going to risk getting thrown out of the house over tentacle… whatever. 

“Wow,” Changmin says, tilting the spread to the side so he can better look at it. “Yunho-hyung.”

Yunho looks over his shoulder at the magazine, and colors, visibly self-conscious, but not nearly shocked enough. “Give me that,” he snaps, grabbing the magazine back from Changmin and then slapping the entire pile of them facedown onto the floor beside his piggybank. “That is _definitely_ your influence.” He kind of looks like his favorite fruit he’s so red at this point, but he defiantly meets Changmin’s eyes. “Shut up. You’re the one who learned Shibari.”

Changmin’s eyes go dark at the memory, automatically conceding the similarity between Japanese rope bondage and tentacle porn on visual alone, and then he stiffens, and not in a good way.

Yunho catches that because of course he does, and while his flush remains, his brows furrow with concern. “Changdol?”

Changmin waves him off, biting at the inside of his mouth. He’s aware peripherally that the manner in which he’s looking at Yunho is fragile enough to shatter, but he can’t seem to help himself. It’s been so long without Yunho remembering Limbo, let alone the fifty years they spent living out of each other’s pockets. Their entire relationship was gone, locked away in Yunho’s heart with the knowledge that they’d made it out alive, and Changmin’s gotten used to being the only one who remembers. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to that not being the case; worries that Yunho will be mentioning their history in passing for years to come and Changmin will go to pieces trying not to cry.

How awful would that be. How ruinous to Changmin’s reputation.

Changmin swallows.

“Oh, Changdol,” Yunho says, tone sounding choked, and Changmin hurriedly strides to tug open the drawers of Yunho’s bedside table. 

“Shut up,” he mutters, very much not crying, and wades through a few miscellaneous items dumped in the drawers. There’s very clearly no organization to them, and Changmin fishes out rubber bands, pens, bookmarks, and more headphones than any person could ever need. “Are you an octopus but with ears instead of legs?” Changmin says, looking up from the clump of wires at Yunho.

Yunho blushes even harder than he had at the porn. “I’m always losing them,” he mutters. “More so since the world went wireless.”

Changmin hefts the tangle of wires pointedly.

“It’s like 1999 here!”

Changmin lowers the nest of headphones with a shrug, and then grins. He tugs the condoms and lube free with a smirk, tossing them down on the bedspring with another raised brow. 

Yunho reaches out and takes the tube of strawberry flavored lube with a  scowl, lobbing the thing back at Changmin to hit him square in the forehead. “Fuck off,” he says, as Changmin’s too busy being shocked to speak. “I’m going to pull up all of your floorboards at your place,” Yunho continues. “I’m going to take _pictures_ of all of your sex toys.” His eyes glint. “I am going to _call your mother_ in reality and _tell her about them—_ ”

Changmin tackles him to the bed, cheeks burning, and both of them go down groaning onto the too-hard box spring. “Don’t you dare,” Changmin gasps out, saved most of the pain by virtue of Yunho cushioning his fall with his body. “I mean, I don’t have any sex toys in my childhood bedroom.”

Yunho shifts gingerly on the bed, blinking stars from his eyes, probably. “Me thinks—” he breaks off, accent kind of unfairly cute, actually. “Me thinks the lady—”

Changmin pushes himself up so that he can better meet Yunho’s eyes, breath still caught somewhere down by his kidneys. 

“Never mind,” Yunho says, clearly thinking better of calling Changmin a lady. 

“Good choice,” says Changmin. He does his best to shift onto the box spring and off of Yunho, ending up on top of the condoms. 

“Mm,” Yunho says, face tightening as he assesses the damage from being slammed onto a mattress-free bedframe. “Ow, Changminnie—”

Changmin kisses him, mostly to get him to stop talking, and keeps kissing him, mostly because he can. And they’re in a bed, wrapped around each other, and not dangerously bruised, probably. 

They come apart with a soft snick, Changmin unfolding rather embarrassingly from where he’s ended up with his hand cupping Yunho’s cheek and his head tipped back like a cliché. Their legs are tangled together. When he opens his eyes, he finds Yunho staring back at him, mouth looking just a hint raw and a whole lot wet. 

“Huh,” Yunho says. 

Changmin blinks, wondering who moved when, how they ended up quite so intertwined. 

“No wonder that was familiar,” Yunho says, more to himself than anything else. When he sees Changmin’s obvious confusion, he adds, “earlier. When you kissed me, earlier.”

Changmin thinks back to the mattress on the beach, eyes the mattress propped against the wall out of their reach with longing, then frowns. “Earlier?” He hadn’t thought they’d ever made a point to make out between tears, but then, their wedding, maybe?

Yunho colors slightly. “Oh. No.” He licks his lips nervously. “I mean in reality—”

Changmin makes a noise, the kiss feeling years ago, and guilt crushing back in full force like a wave.

Yunho frowns at him. “Hey.” He touches Changmin on the shoulder, then moves on the bed so he can better look Changmin in the eyes. “No more wallowing.” 

Changmin sighs back at him but dips his head in acknowledgment. “Sorry—”

Yunho puts a finger on his lips, and after a minute’s pause, lets it rest in the divot there. “No more apologizing, either.” His eyes are dark, twin slits of brown curled neatly around black, too-large pupils. His lashes are unfairly curled, maybe from the sea. 

Changmin looks at him for a long moment, and then very carefully parts his mouth. His breath exhales hotly against Yunho’s fingertip.

Yunho’s lashes whisper against his cheeks. “Fuck,” he says, and leans in.

The bed creaks worryingly, freezing them both in place. Changmin winces, muscles clearly not appreciating the involuntary tensing alongside the unexpectedly hard landing, and Yunho looks particularly pained. 

“Fuck,” he says again, much less sultry this time. He rubs at the back of his neck, stretches, then rocks his shoulders. “Tell me again why you decided to tackle me onto the bed without the mattress?” He moves, still holding his shoulder, then gifts Changmin with a gorgeous smile to show he’s not really mad.

“It was closer,” explains Changmin grudgingly, earnestly apologetic despite that. “Sorry—Hyung—”

Yunho lets go of his shoulder and cracks his spine with a hum. “Mm, and you had to tackle me because… ?” 

“You were going to tell my mom about my sex toys,” Changmin accuses hotly, glowering at the expanse of him, no longer the picture of mid-thirties ‘I’m getting too old for this’ and instead now looking positively sinful as he lounges back against the box spring. 

Yunho lifts his head, exposing the line of his throat. “I thought you said you didn’t have sex toys.”

Changmin tries to shoot him an ugly look but remains too distracted by the unmarked length of skin that makes up his neck to fully commit. “I did not,” he insists, before he can think that confession through. 

Yunho’s eyes flash, clearly not having expected Changmin to swallow his foot so quickly. Or maybe he’s thinking about the sorts of sex toys Changmin just accidentally implied having.

Regardless, Changmin juts out his chin stubbornly, unwilling to back down. “What?”

Yunho raises both hands in immediately placating defense. 

Changmin glares at him harder. “You’re not telling me _you_ don’t have sex toys.” 

Yunho’s eyes go dark again. “No,” he says, neither in disagreement or agreement. “Not here,” he continues—agreement, then. “Not in my childhood bedroom that I shared with my little sister.” He winces, and they both turn to look guiltily at Jihye’s bed across the room, pristinely made and almost accusing in its baby pink decoration. 

“Also, the other option was your baby sister’s bed,” Changmin says, then shrugs when Yunho looks at him. “You asked me why I tackled you onto the bed without the mattress.”

Yunho visibly rewinds their conversation in his head, eyes shifting side to side dizzyingly. “Ah, yes,” he says, casting Jihye’s bed one last look. “Smart,” he adds. “I wouldn’t be able to look her in the face the next time I visited, and I’d have no qualms about telling her it was your fault.” He brightens suddenly. “I have to go back soon; Eunchae will be one in April.”

Changmin can’t help but smile at the thought of Yunho’s niece, then pauses when the rest of that sentence registers. “Me?” he manages. “You’d tell her about—” He breaks off, uncertain. “Me,” he finishes lamely, fighting the urge to nibble a nail. Perhaps he could roll off the bed and fall back a level. 

Like he’s caught that though, Yunho reaches out to grab Changmin by one bicep, grip lapsing immediately as he realizes they’re not at all arranged for that kind of contact, as Yunho is mostly on his back looking like a full snack, and Changmin is still mostly on his side looking like some sort of elaborate S. “My family knows who you are, Changminnie,” Yunho says, settling more firmly onto the uncomfortable box spring. When Changmin looks, he finds Yunho’s eyes have gone kind instead of lascivious. 

Changmin scowls at him anyway. “No, I _know_ that—”

“I’ve had boyfriends.”

Changmin’s mouth opens around an irrationally jealous growl and he holds it in when Yunho lifts a brow.

“You’re not some sort of terrible secret I’m afraid to write home about.”

“You fucker. You know I didn’t mean it like that—”

“My parents and Jihye are fully aware that you work with me as a—” Yunho continues, then stops suddenly, clearly panicking.

Changmin lunges for that moment of weakness like some sort of frantic predator. He sits up on the bed, getting right in Yunho’s face. He’s not quite hovering over him suggestively, but that’s mostly because almost all of him is still to Yunho’s right. “What?” he demands. “That we work together as what?”

He knows it’s publishing of some sort since he’s been to more than a few uncomfortable holiday dinners with Yunho’s family that ended with the unfortunate reminder that Jihye was two years Yunho’s junior and already engaged, married, and or pregnant. 

Changmin knows Yunho’s parents think Changmin’s a writer. 

Yunho refuses to tell him what sort of writing Changmin supposedly does, however, and Changmin is not about to let this opportunity pass. “That we work together as _what_ , Yunho-yah?” he growls. 

Yunho won’t meet his eyes, and he mumbles out something unintelligible like if he’s cute enough Changmin will let him get away with that.

“Speak up, Yunho-hyung,” Changmin insists, fifty-years of living with him under his belt. “I can’t hear you.”

“As,” Yunho says, dramatically loud and high and not meeting Changmin’s eyes. “As the incredibly popular author of one of the… erotic gay novels published by the company I work for,” he finishes in one breath into the suddenly resounding silence. 

Changmin stares at him, horrified. 

“I panicked,” Yunho continues, not meeting his eyes and instead looking pointedly at his ceiling. “Mom asked me what I did for a living and I panicked.”

Changmin is having a hard time coming up with anything to say in response to that, mostly stuck reliving every conversation he’s ever had with Yunho’s mother about their jobs. 

“Anyway, my point is my parents know who you are—”

“You told your mother I wrote gay erotica?” shrieks Changmin, finally finding the words. “You—” He stops, remembering very suddenly the conversation he’d had with Yunho’s mother where the fact that Changmin was an author and Yunho was a publisher first came up. “I told her my demographic was _high school girls_!” wails Changmin, horror like ice down his spine. “I—I _offered to let her read a manuscript_!” 

Yunho winces. “Yes, well,” he says, finally sitting up as well on the bed, then freezing when the entire thing creaks slightly like the ghost of Yunho’s parents are ashamed of them both. “I panicked.”

Changmin doesn’t know if he wants to shake the man into submission or kiss the man into submission. 

“So you understand it probably wouldn’t be that bad, if I told your mom about your sex toys,” Yunho says, clearly trying to be helpful. “Because I’m sure my mom—”

“Has told my mom about my… job,” concludes Changmin. “Oh my _God_.”

Yunho winces again, then tries out a smile. “Surprise?” he says. 

Changmin stares at him for three more seconds, before giving him a shove, delighting at the ungraceful way Yunho tumbles out of the bed, then feeling a little bad at the groan he lets out upon hitting the floor.

“Fuck, Changminnie, you’ve done little to make up for all these bruises I’m getting—”

“You made me watch you die!” Changmin snaps back, still shifting forward so he can make sure Yunho’s not too banged up. “You—you got fucking _shot—_ ”

Yunho twists to look at him, one hand rubbing the back of his head. “I didn’t get shot on purpose,” he points out.

Changmin fights the urge to choke him. “I _watched you die_ ,” he snarls.

Yunho has the decency to look sorry. “At least it was just in a dream?”

Changmin bares his teeth. “And you ended up here,” he says. “In Limbo.” He’s clawing at his own hands, but he can’t seem to stop. 

Yunho flops more solidly down against the floor. “Yeah, well, if you’d told me the risk involved with ending up in Limbo—” he starts to say.

“I couldn’t!” shouts Changmin. “You wanted to _die_ , Yunho-hyung!” He can feel twin spots of heat on both cheeks and he feels trapped, up on the bed looming over Yunho, but he doesn’t fucking care, he’s suddenly so livid. “Every time you went to sleep the first two weeks you wanted to _die_.”

“I wanted to _go home_ ,” Yunho corrects, mouth a hard line. He won’t look away from Changmin.

“You put a gun in your mouth,” Changmin says, over enunciating and shaking. “You told me the only reason you wouldn’t pull the trigger is you wanted me to go first.”

For two terrible moments, Yunho stares back at Changmin with defiance flaming in his eyes, and then his entire body seems to shudder, melting back against the hardwood floors with a pained downturn to his mouth. “Changdol,” he manages.

Changmin finally manages to look away from him. “It’s fine,” he says, even though it’s not. “You got over it.”

There’s noise from the ground—the gasped hiss of air leaving Yunho’s lungs, the creak and groan of Yunho sitting upright, the too-quiet pad of his feet on the floor, the shift of the bed when he sits down beside Changmin. “You should have told me,” he says, taking both of Changmin’s hands.

Changmin looks up at him and scoffs. “Right,” he says. “And risk—”

“Changdol, even if we don’t find my grandfather’s watch and I still think we need to go home once we’ve lived our lives in here again, you have to promise me you won’t let me forget,” Yunho continues over him, thumbs smoothing calming circles on the skin of Changmin’s lifeline. “Promise me,” he insists.

Changmin looks back at him, unable to make such a vow. “Yunho-hyung.”

“If we don’t find it,” Yunho says again, tightening his grip on Changmin’s hand once, then twice, then for a third time, and not letting go. “Promise me.”

Changmin _can’t_. “I can’t lose you,” he whispers.

Yunho looks back at him with nothing but trust in his eyes. “Changmin I love you,” he says. “Don’t ask me to let you shoulder that hurt alone.”

And Changmin’s the one making noises like he’s a wounded animal, now. “Hyung—”

“I know you were only doing it to keep me safe,” Yunho rushes to say. “But think about it from my perspective.”

Changmin bites back a scoff, brows going up a hint.

Yunho smiles. “I know,” he says. “Who would have thought I’d have the humility not to be a competitive dick all the time.”

Changmin shoves him. “Shut up. You’re rightly arrogant about your skills in dreamshare.”

“Our skills in dreamshare,” Yunho corrects gently, undeterred by the push. 

Changmin can’t look at him suddenly.

“Ours,” Yunho says again. “We’re a team.”

The ring around Changmin’s fingers burns. 

“Even if I never,” Yunho starts to say, breaking off heartbreakingly. “Even if when we wake up, I don’t believe, it doesn’t matter.”

Changmin opens his mouth.

Yunho lets go of his hands and pushes him, arranging them both back on the bed so that Changmin’s the one on his back on the box spring, and Yunho is looming over him with nothing but belief in his eyes. Belief that Changmin can’t let himself hope Yunho will still have when they wake up. 

“It doesn’t matter, Changmin,” Yunho says.

Changmin wants to trust that. “Why?” he breathes.

Yunho’s answering inhale goes hissing into his lungs. “Because you believe,” he says. “You’ll know it’s reality.”

Changmin’s heart feels like it’s going to pound right out of his chest, it’s going so fast. “And?”

“And that’s enough, for me,” Yunho says. “I love you.”

Changmin stares up at him, chest heaving. 

“I—” Yunho moves like he’s going to pull back and Changmin grabs him before he can do so, hands going tight on his arms and legs falling apart to give him space to thud down, then retreating almost shyly when Yunho ends up pressed against him without even a gasp between them. “I love you,” Yunho says. Then his jaw goes stubborn, and his expression stern with pride. “You’ll just have to believe for the both of us.” 

Changmin is almost afraid to breathe, let alone speak. 

“And you have to admit it would be easier to sleep in the same room if we were just in the same bed,” Yunho adds, trying out a smile.

Changmin folds him into a hug and lets out a watery chuckle, more tears than laughter. “That’s what Kyu said,” he manages.

Yunho runs fingers through Changmin’s hair and sighs. “He’s a smart man,” he says softly. His eyes are on Changmin’s mouth, in his other hand, the lube winks between the grooves of his knuckles.

“That was on the other side of the bed,” Changmin says.

“Dream logic,” Yunho says.

Changmin’s toes curl in anticipation. He’s still lying on the condoms. “He is,” he says. When Yunho tilts his head, he adds, “Kyuhyun. Is a smart man.”

Yunho’s mouth rounds into a gentle ‘o,’ then he grins. “Too bad he can never marry you,” he says, then sets his teeth into his bottom lip coquettishly. “You’d have to divorce me first.”

And all Changmin can do is smile, head tipped back for kisses. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Share this fic: [Tumblr](https://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/185391613090/homin-fic-its-alright-even-if-you-hate-me) | Twitter.


	11. Limbo | February 2019

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this; I've been working very hard on the TVXQ starter kit.

Sex in Limbo is—different.

Mindblowing.

Toe curling. 

Fantasy fodder for the rest of Changmin’s life, Yunho bowed over him with his chest slick with sweat, eyes shut, mouth bitten raw, pants escaping on the odd breath or two as he groans, hips twisting in mindless circles as Changmin holds him by the hips and keeps him from orgasm by virtue of purposeful near misses. 

They’re still in Yunho’s childhood bedroom but at some point the entire building cracked open so they could both see the moon, and Changmin can’t help but laugh every time he sees it, glinting behind Yunho and casting him in too-bright silver. It ought to be the sun, so that Yunho could be colored golden as he is in Changmin’s heart, but the scent of the sea and the crash of the waves are far too reminiscent of their first time for Changmin to give up on their moon spotlight.

The look on Yunho’s face when he saw it—on his back somewhere at the beginning when Changmin was fishing out the condoms and Yunho was glaring at him and setting the things on fire with his fucking mind—Yunho’s expression made the weird time-logic worth it.

And Changmin has to admit, there’s something to be said for how gorgeous Yunho looks bathed in moonlight.

“Ngh,” Yunho groans, finally giving up on moving and stilling astride Changmin’s cock with a hiss. His eyes droop open and his gaze is watery. “Changmin.”

Changmin can only stare back up at him and sigh, enraptured. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Looking at you?” Changmin says.

Yunho wipes sweaty hair from his eyes and scowls, clenching and unclenching his muscles almost punishingly tight around Changmin’s dick. “Do you think you could fuck me first?” he says. “You have the next however many years of our lives to stare at me.”

“Fifty-three,” Changmin says, because he’s nothing if not accurate. “But since we haven’t been counting it’s probably better to round up to fifty-four—we can start counting with sunrise tomorrow.” 

Yunho pauses, hand still tangled in the slick strands of his hair, and huffs, blowing at his bangs. “Changmin- _ah_ ,” the moans, and rocks in another tantalizing circle. “Less intelligence and more _fucking_.” 

Changmin tightens his grip on Yunho’s hips and sighs. He starts up a rolling thrust, still not finding the spot Yunho wants him to. “But I thought you loved me for my brain, not my cock, Hyung?” He thuds eight fingers against the skin of Yunho’s hips almost teasingly, gaze fixed on the expression of frustration blooming across Yunho’s face.

“Changmin,” the man growls, leaning down slowly with an impressive show of abdominal control.

Changmin’s breath catches in his throat and he releases his grip on Yunho’s hips, content with the knowledge that Yunho isn’t going to move without his permission. He’s not entirely sure how he knows that, but his fingers are already skating up Yunho’s ribcage, so he’s just going to go with it.

Yunho hisses, not really ticklish so much as hyper-sensitive, but doesn’t stop in his quest to get down to Changmin’s mouth. “Fuck me,” he says. “Bend me in half and _fuck_ me.”

Changmin’s heart skips a beat.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten _how_ , in the past six months.”

And Changmin can’t have that, can’t stop his automatic response to snap his teeth in Yunho’s face and buck, slipping free from Yunho with an involuntary moan of frustration, and then doing his utmost best to kiss the man senseless as he tries to decide the best position.

“What if—you dreamed—us a mattress—” Yunho manages in between kisses, still agreeably straddled around Changmin’s hips despite the lack of penetration. 

“You talk too much,” Changmin growls right back into the seal of their lips, even though his knees already ache as he finds purchase against the box spring. The porn magazines fell long ago, and the spread they make on the floor between Yunho and Jihye’s childhood beds is frankly stunning. And also likely to earn them a top spot in hell. 

“I just worry about you,” says Yunho, taking advantage of Changmin’s indecision to get a hold of his dick, fingers somehow still wet from the lube—fucking Limbo—and grip just a shade too gentle to be good. “You’re not as young as you used to be.”

Changmin is going to put him on his front and _own_ him, at this point, but then, no, he really wants to kiss Yunho all the way through it. Wants to kiss him until their lips hurt and their lungs burn, because even though it’s Limbo and they don’t need to breathe, it turns out the medulla oblongata wins out, if you’re not used to telling it ‘no.’ 

Changmin can’t kiss Yunho easily if he puts him on his front and makes him forget his name. “New plan,” he mutters in between kisses, reaching around to heft Yunho up by the ass, and then hissing when Yunho tightens his hold on Changmin’s dick in response. “New—plan,” he says again glancing around, and then, glaring, shifts the environment so that they’re on a brand new mattress. 

Of course it doesn’t go as planned, so Yunho’s childhood mattress remains across the room propped up against the G.O.D. posters, but Changmin’s knees and ass thank him, so he doesn’t care.

Well.

He cares enough to remove all the posters of people, feeling  more than a little annoyed about the way Park Joonhyung is looking at Yunho. Even though he’s not really looking at Yunho, what with the sunglasses and the fact that he is, in fact, a poster.

Changmin blacks him out anyway, his cock having the gall to soften a little in response.

Yunho notices because he’s still palming him, and then follows his gaze. He lets go of Changmin’s dick and puts a hand on the back of Changmin’s neck. “Changdol, are you jealous of Park Joonhyung—”

Changmin gets a better hold on him and flips him, spinning so that he can press Yunho down on his back on the mattress, color high in both cheeks. “It is not my fault you spent the first part of our time in Limbo mooning after Park Jinyoung!” he shouts, arranging Yunho on his side so that he can get behind him. He can’t help but bite at the swell of his shoulder once he’s done, worrying the skin between his teeth until Yunho hisses, and then soothing at the mark with his lips until Yunho sighs, head thrown back.

“I wasn’t mooning,” the man says, sounding annoyed until Changmin lifts his leg and slides back into him with one hot stroke. “I was just… passing the time.”

Changmin’s still too happy that Yunho can even remember shit from that far back, given how long they were in Limbo the first time. He opens his mouth to say as much, but doesn’t get to because Yunho reaches around to hit him on the chest.

“Yah, I was eighty, not a hundred, you asshole,” Yunho says, cheeks pink. “Oh my God—did you bring up my totem all the time because you thought _I had dementia_?”

Changmin shrugs, starting a slow grind in and out of Yunho’s body as a distraction. “Um,” he tries. “No?”

Yunho hits him again. “You bastard,” he says. “Yeonhee was like… sixteen!”

“Fifteen,” Changmin corrects. 

“I was fifty-five!” Yunho continues, ignoring him. His sentence only hitches slightly when Changmin finds a particularly sensitive spot on his way in and out. “You thought I had dementia at fifty-five!”

Changmin reaches around to hold him across the chest where the heart is and by the belly, palm pausing against the slick skin of Yunho’s abs when the other man freezes, air catching in his lungs. “Can we not discuss our made up children from the last time we spent fifty years in Limbo, Yunho-hyung?” He slides his hand down to get Yunho by the cock, delighting in the way that makes Yunho’s nostrils flare, head tossing so his hair isn’t in his eyes and neck craning as he fights to meet Changmin’s eyes. “It’s a bit weird.” Changmin circles the base of Yunho’s cock so that he can hold off any orgasm until he says, and Yunho’s breathing picks up immediately. “Especially since you set the condoms on fire,” he adds.

For a few moments, he thinks Yunho’s going to say something… dangerous.

And then he seems to think better of it, biting at his bottom lip instead, and flopping back against Changmin’s shoulder with a groan. “You’re the one who wanted to use condoms,” he says petulantly. “We’re not on a beach, this time. And it’s a _dream_.”

Changmin can’t wait to find out if Yunho’s thing for having nothing between them will survive the inconvenience of reality, where there’s no easy way to get around the slow leak afterwards. He thinks no, and makes a note to get them both to the doctor for a clean bill of health as soon as possible once they’ve landed in New York. 

“The fire was a bit much,” he says.

Yunho snorts. “You thought it was hot,” he says.

Changmin gives him a few too-fast, too-soon strokes to his cock, and then settles his hip bones right up against the curve of his ass, not moving. “I always think you’re hot,” he says. 

Yunho drops his head forwards again, the bones of his spine particularly visible and enticing from Changmin’s view. “God, Changdol,” he whispers. “What do I have to do to get you to _fuck me—_ ”

Changmin leans forwards to bite him right between the vertebrae, tightens his grip around the base of Yunho’s cock, and thrusts forward a few punishingly painful times.  “Dunno,” he says, because the answer is he just… doesn’t want this to end, stupidly. It’s not like they are lacking for _time_ , given this is Limbo. But Changmin still feels… raw. They still have to look for Yunho’s totem, even though at this point Changmin is pretty convinced it’s a lost cause. And he might not be fully convinced that it’ll be okay, but he gave this up last time. He doesn’t think he could survive doing so again, and knowing Yunho, the man would remember and play dumb just to test him, and then ruin any and all chances of Changmin spending the rest of his natural life with the man _for real_ by being rightly angry. 

Yunho’s gone quiet against him, even as he breathes and groans and sighs on each and every upstroke. “I know this position is great for making you feel big and strong and in charge and all,” he says once he realizes he has Changmin’s full attention again. “But I really need to kiss you.”

Changmin stops again, less about prolonging the experience and making Yunho mindless, and more about how similar that line of thinking had been to his own, humming on the back-burner the whole twenty-five minutes it took them to get here. 

“Like, really really,” says Yunho. “I may—” He stops, an apologetic slant to his mouth that Changmin has to kiss away, heedless of how the movement makes Yunho’s body contort uncomfortably. “I just really need to kiss you,” Yunho finishes, voice muffled against Changmin’s mouth in direct contrast to the words themselves. 

Changmin lets his dick slide free for the second time, holding himself aloft so that he doesn’t crush Yunho until they’re front to front comfortably, and then decides that he’ll be content to let Yunho do the rest of the work. He’ll just kiss him and kiss him and _kiss him_ until his lungs burn. They’ve got fifty-three years, give or take a few.

That’s plenty of time to re-learn how to bypass his own brainstem. 

“God, Changdol,” say Yunho, refusing to let go of Changmin long enough to do more than mouth at his cheek and earlobes. “I _love you—_ ”

“I missed you,” Changmin tells him again, sentimental to a fault, as Yunho’s fingers find his cock again and guide him back inside. He sinks into the heat of him, feels the muscles of the man’s thighs as they settle around him, and reaches for a dreamed-pillow to make it easier for him.

Yunho stills him with a hand on his own, tugging it up so that he can kiss the back of it, and then the ring around his finger. “No,” he whispers against the skin and metal there. “Leave it. I—like it.”

Changmin thinks about the strain of his own thighs, caught against between the will of gravity and the will of his own pleasure-seeing, trapped under Yunho fully willing to accept this littlest death. He meets Yunho’s dark, smoldering eyes. He brushes the silver of his ring against Yunho’s ripe, cupid’s bow mouth. He groans, “Love. You,” in two sentences and then hides his face in the space behind Yunho’s ear. “I _missed_ you,” he says again on repeat.

Yunho puts his own ringed hand in Changmin’s hair, silver catching on the strands. “That’s nice,” he teases, ever aware of what it is Changmin wants of him, what Changmin needs of him. “Now _fuck—_ oh— _me—_ ”

Changmin does. 

 

* * *

 

There’s less déjà vu after, this time. The moon is the same, the fresh, sheetless mattress is the same. The clothes, littering Yunho’s childhood bedroom alongside the porn magazines like a roadmap to deviancy, are almost the same. They’re clean because what they washed up on the shore with were bloody, like last time.

But still, it feels different. Changmin unfurls from Yunho with a sigh, almost loathe to separate. He wonders if it would be possible to become one _person_ , but then, that would probably have horrible repercussions come fifty years from now. 

And Changmin can’t afford any distraction, can’t afford to forget even for a second their countdown, their deadline, their reality. Not when he needs to remember for the both of them. 

Too much is stake. His own life, and Yunho’s. 

“Hey.” Yunho ended up sprawled lifelessly in the not-wetspot with his legs thrown apart where Changmin left them when he pulled out. Seeing him like that made something possessive and snarling purr contentedly deep in Changmin’s chest, and when he ducked his head in embarrassment, Yunho just met his eyes full on without a hint of shame. They’d already done that, the first time. Wrestled each other’s fears and kinks free from each other’s clutches along with their totems, until they were as good as one person. An unshakable, unbreakable unit. 

Until death do us part, essentially.

Changmin looks down at the fall of Yunho’s legs and can’t help but sigh besottedly, he’s so in love. 

Yunho pokes him on the arm again. “Changdol-ah,” he says. “Stop moping. You’re hurting my feelings.”

Changmin looks at him curiously. 

“It’s been, what, six months since we were last together here? That’s, what, eighty-thousand years?”

Changmin waits to see where he’s going with this, honestly charmed.

Yunho finally turns to look at him, wet glinting around his lips from where he’d sucked Changmin off at the end of that last round. “I know it’s been a while, but I’d like to think I’ve still got it,” he says, and Changmin slaps him on the arm because he’s supposed to, not because he’s offended.

The resounding clap of skin against skin is loud in the quiet of Yunho’s childhood bedroom, made all the more peaceful by the addition of outdoors. No bugs, though, since Changmin is _not_ about that life. 

It’ll be almost disappointing once they wake up, and sex on the beach is a ‘no’ because of sound, and sex under the moon is a ‘no’ because Changmin refuses to get bitten on the ass. In fact—

“We should fuck as much as possible outside here,” he tells Yunho. “Because the moment we’re back in reality where there are _bugs_ , you will have to buy me a fucking _island_ first—”

“I was thinking a ring,” Yunho says, linking their hands together so that the metal around each of their fingers clinks together. “Silver.” 

Changmin looks down at their hands, struck silent.

“With my heartbeat around the inside,” says Yunho. “And yours around mine. We can get your island for the honeymoon.”

“It’s not legal in Seoul,” Changmin manages. 

Yunho tightens his hold on him. “It is in New York,” he whispers.

Changmin… can’t go again, but he really, really wants to. “Okay.” The word comes out a whisper, because that’s the answer, always, no matter the cost. Then he pauses. “Hang on,” he says. “Did you just propose to me to get out of buying me an island?” 

Yunho lets go of his hand and finally moves to close his legs, but Changmin just rolls to follow him. 

“Yunho-hyung!”

“No,” Yunho says, lying badly.

“You did,” Changmin says. “You proposed to me to get out of buying me an island!”

“I proposed to you so you’d try exhibitionism, Changdol, do keep up.”

“Exhibitionism doesn’t require outdoors,” Changmin dismisses. “Stop changing the subject.” He waves a hand. “I can’t believe you,” he says. “First in the soup aisle, to keep me from murdering Park Jinyoung, now in your childhood home to keep from having to buy me an island.”

“To make you feel less threatened by JYP,” Yunho corrects, then winces when Changmin glares at him.

“That’s worse!” he says. His eyes narrow. “Your mother would agree with me.”

Yunho stares at him with wide, frightened eyes. “What—”

“Your mother thinks I am an erotic romance author,” Changmin continues. “Shame on you for proposing in such an unromantic way. You weren’t even on your knees!”

Yunho rolls so that he’s on his knees hovering atop Changmin again, and Changmin’s breath stutters to a brief stop, his words dying off. “You said that last time,” he says, making Changmin’s traitorous heart skip a beat to hear him remember that much. “And if I recall correctly I _got_ on my knees after you said it.” He sets both hands on Changmin’s ribs like a secret, shifting so that he can practically slink his way down the bed and the span of Changmin’s torso. “I’m starting to think you’re doing it on purpose—”

“You got on your knees to propose to me!” Changmin blurts desperately, cock somehow finding the capacity to harden with the immediacy of a dream, almost painful in its suddenness. “Fuck—” he swears, as Yunho swallows him down in one go. 

Yunho pops off his dick almost immediately, eyes sparkling. “After,” he says, like Changmin’s curse was a fucking karaoke request, and then proceeds to make _Changmin_ sing. “Don’t think,” Changmin gets out, staring up at the ceiling not at all sure how they got here _again_. “Don’t think I can get it up after—”

Yunho comes up off his dick again with a grin, expression positively crafty. “That’s fine,” he says, words already starting to rasp since he’s taking Changmin to the base like he’s some sort of Olympic dick sucker—which given how good at it he got the first time around, he might as well be; at least he’s so attuned to each and every one of Changmin’s tells that he’s basically got a gold medal in sucking Shim Changmin’s dick. “I can.”

Changmin tries to mull that over and fails the moment Yunho smirks at him and sinks back down, slowly this time, centimeter by centimeter down the skin of Changmin’s cock until his nose is in Changmin’s pubic hair and his breath is coming through his nose. “You,” he tries. “What?”

Yunho hums around the dick in his mouth and gives a long swallowing suck, pulling off expertly alongside the involuntary thrust of Changmin’s hips. He works a fist up and down a few times in the moment it takes for him to get his breath back, gag reflex not as perfectly repressed as it had been their first go around. “I can get it up,” he explains. His throat sounds wrecked and Changmin can’t help but whimper at the sound of him, heart thudding in his ears. “I’m already up,” Yunho adds, with a glance down at his own lap.

And he is, so much so that he’s almost purple at the tip and leaking steadily against the curve of his own thighs. He’s hard just from sucking Changmin off, sloppy just from working his throat down Changmin’s cock and letting him use his mouth. 

Changmin’s suddenly hard enough that he’s worried about sustaining brain damage; it feels like all of his blood has gone south for the winter, done its peacock dance and somehow lucked out on trapping Jung Yunho for now and forevermore. “Oh,” he manages, as Yunho gives his dick one last stroke and then shuffles back down on the bed so that he can get back to deepthroating like a champion. “Cool.” The word breaks in two when Yunho swallows him down, humming around the head and teasing a tongue into the slit.

So much for deepthroating, Changmin thinks mindlessly, pointlessly, stupidly, since it’s not like this is bad—not like—fuck—Changmin can even think straight.

Yunho’s eyes are killer alone, half lidded and mischievous and practically daring Changmin to say something. 

“I’d marry you,” gasps Changmin. “Ten out of ten—” He breaks off around a half-bitten off moan when Yunho sinks down another few centimeters and sets an appreciative hand into the other man’s hair. “A perfect proposal,” he finishes. “You don’t even have to do it in reality—” 

Yunho comes off him so suddenly Changmin hisses at the overstimulation, even though he’s not all that opposed.  

“What—”

“You’re proposing in reality,” Yunho tells him, tone serious despite the swollen wetness of his mouth and the tears leaking in the corners of his eyes. “I’ve already done it twice—”

“Badly,” Changmin tries to correct, then groans when Yunho blows on his cockhead. “Fine—fabulously—”

“It’s your turn,” Yunho says grudgingly. He won’t meet Changmin’s eyes, so Changmin forgoes the blowjob of his dreams to haul the other man up so that he can’t escape them. Yunho fights a little once he’s within reach, protesting pointlessly like he just wants to keep blowing Changmin, and then finally settles across Changmin’s chest with a sigh. “You should propose to _me_ ,” he mumbles into Changmin’s nipple. “It’s only fair.”

Changmin will give him that. “Hyung.”

Yunho lifts his head to stare at Changmin, hard and serious. “You didn’t promise,” he admits, finally. 

Changmin stills. “Oh, Yunho-hyung,” he tries to say.

Yunho hushes him with a look, twisting guiltily against him. “No. Don’t look like that. I’m not saying you have to—I wouldn’t make you—”

Changmin kisses him quickly to quiet him. “I promise,” he says against the seam of Yunho’s mouth. “I won’t let you forget about us. I won’t.” He shuts his eyes to steel himself. “Shoulder it all alone.”

Yunho lets out the air in his lungs in one great gust. “Changminnie.”

Changmin kisses him again, to quiet him, and then because he wants to. It’s an innocent kiss, just the gentle press of lips against lips, but still Changmin shuts his eyes and feels his heart ache, because he missed this, the past six months. Just being together. Just _existing_ in the same space, on the same page. “I promise, Yunho-hyung,” he says when they’re done. “But if you’re looking for a song and dance proposal you can divorce me right here and now.”

It takes Yunho two seconds to catch up with that statement and he laughs, shoving at Changmin playfully. “Shut up,” he starts to say.

“I know you’re a romantic at heart, but we have to be realistic. We don’t want to make a scene in New York.”

Yunho shoves him again. “Changdol.”

“Imagine if I got on my knees on the tarmac,” Changmin can’t help but keep saying. “Right in front of Kaito and everything—ruining all our carefully laid plans.”

Yunho dismisses that as unneeding of a shove. “Don’t be ridiculous, Changdol. The inception worked; I’m a genius.” 

Changmin lifts a brow.

“We’re geniuses,” Yunho amends. “No way it’s breaking over you on your knees.” There’s a moment. “As wondrous as that image is.” He licks his lips, counter to the picture he’s painting and reminding Changmin that his cock didn’t go all the way soft in the ensuing heart to heart. “As wondrous as your… mouth is…”

“If you think you’re distracting me from the fact that you’re the one supposed to be proposing to me, you’re wrong,” says Changmin snobbily, then grins when Yunho snaps at him teasingly. “No teeth. Have you never given a blowjob before?”

Yunho grins wider, and then with one last kiss to the tip of Changmin’s nose, slithers back down the bed to remind him that no, this is not his first time around the track.

 

* * *

 

After that, Changmin decides they need to get out of the bed to at least prevent chafing, if not for his ability to get it up later on in life. He makes Yunho put on his clothes alone in the room, peruses the halls of the rest of the house looking at family and school photos, comes the tear-jerking realization that baby Taehee had baby Yunho’s nose, and then regroups with the other man in the kitchen. “Nothing?” he says.

“Nothing,” Yunho agrees, but laces their ring hands together anyway. “Remember,” he says.

“I believe enough for the both of us,” Changmin continues, and tightens his grip. “You still want to look at my house?”

Yunho shrugs, swinging their hands together between them, before catching sight of the photo Changmin had been looking at. In it he’s wearing cowboy boots and a cowboy hat, holding a toy guitar, toothless grin blinding. He smiles when he sees it, tapping a finger against it conspiratorially.

Changmin feels guilt slice down his spine. “Sorry—” he starts to say; no doubt Yunho’s noticed the nasal resemblance as well, and no way he’s risking children this time around if that’s what drove Yunho to inception the first time.

“I’m seven, here,” Yunho says. “Convinced I’m going to be a star.” 

 Changmin blinks. That wasn’t what he thought Yunho was going to say, clearly.

“I wonder what my life would have been like, if I’d been one,” Yunho muses, almost to himself.

Changmin pauses again. “A star?” he says, thinking about the burning gas giant above them—about their own flaming _sun—_ and thinking about that movie he saw, about a girl who fell from the sky. The sentimental sap in him wants him to say that Yunho already is a star—he’s Changmin’s _sun_. He bites it back.

“An idol,” says Yunho, letting go of the photo and shooting Changmin a smile to let him know he’s ready to move on. “Anyway, what do you want to do first? I figured we should probably fix up our place. It’s got to be in ruins—eighty-thousand years and all—”

“You could be an idol, here,” interrupts Changmin, before he can stop himself. It’s stupid to say it. He was the one who put the idea of children in Yunho’s head in the first place—started the whole mess in the first place. He should just keep his mouth _shut—_

He’s brought out of his thoughts by Yunho’s hand on his chin, cool and comforting. 

“Hey,” Yunho says. “I love our children.”

Changmin’s chest does the funny thing it did at Taehee’s wedding, at the birth of her first child, when Dohyun one-upped his sister by eloping the month before her big day, when Yeonhee one upped them all by marrying Minho’s son. 

“And I’d love to be an idol with you.”

Changmin cycles through at least three emotions, guilt about the past, relief that it’s over and he’s got Yunho to stand beside him every time he thinks about it from now on, and then horror at the thought of having to sing and dance. Changmin wouldn’t mind singing—he likes it, and the poems he finds himself plotting out in the margins of his dream planning always do resemble lyrics—but _dancing_? There were idols in the army alongside Changmin, and no way is he going to subject himself to that sort of mockery. He’d for sure dislocate something.

Yunho’s gaze has gone shrewd. “You didn’t really think you’d be able to get out of it, did you?” he says. “Be my non-famous boyfriend?”

“Well—”

“If I’m going to get on stage and sing and dance my heart out there’s _no way_ you’re not coming with me.”

“I’m not a good dancer!” Changmin protests. “I can’t sing—”

Yunho shoots him a dark look. “Don’t lie. I’ve heard you in the shower,” he says. 

Changmin blushes. “That doesn’t count.”

“It totally counts.” Yunho shakes his hair out of his eyes. “Anyway it’s not like we have to start now,” he says.

Changmin heaves a sigh of relief, short-lived against the brilliance of Yunho’s grin, the whiplash of him changing the fabric of the dream. He goes from thirty-three and handsome, dressed head to toe in a bespoke, thousand-dollar suit, to what can’t be more than eighteen, complexion ruddy and oversized gym shorts baggy. 

Changmin gapes at him, not sure what to comment on first, but when he finally manages to speak, the voice that comes out of him is high and squeaky. Nothing like what he’s sounded like since puberty. Two strides from the kitchen and he’s standing in front of Yunho’s conveniently placed foyer mirror, gaping at himself now. He’s absolutely sixteen—all angles and choppy bangs—and his ears stick out something fierce. “What did you do?” he shouts at Yunho, then winces at the sound of his voice. 

“We can’t be idols in our thirties,” Yunho says reasonably, coming to join Changmin beside the mirror so he can look himself up and down as well. “Huh.” He picks at the hem of his shirt, then runs fingers through his hair. It’s worse than Changmin’s—short and spikey and dyed ice blond at the tips. “I haven’t fixed my teeth, yet. That’s weird.” He licks over them a few times for Changmin’s benefit, and Changmin is struck by the odd urge to do the same.

Before he can do so, there’s movement from the rest of the house—footsteps, and the sounds of life.

“Yunho-yah!” It’s Yunho’s father—that much Changmin knows from the straightening of Yunho’s back, and because he’s met the man. “Quit dawdling—we have to hurry if we’re going to make it to Seoul to meet the rest of your bandmates—” Yunho’s father sounds displeased, but no less authoritative, and Changmin focuses on that instead of the fact that clearly he’s not supposed to be here. 

“He didn’t want me to be an idol,” Yunho says. “He wanted me to be a lawyer. But when Grandfather died, I promised him I’d do something with my life, and since he fought in the war… ” He trails off.

“You enlisted,” Changmin says.

Yunho nods. “Yeah—” He breaks off when his mother’s voice joins his father, asking Jihye if she’s seen the brush.

Changmin tilts his head to the side. “Who are these bandmates, do you think?” he starts to ask, when like magic, the knowledge reaches him. 

The bandmates are him, and they who shall not be named, and that’s fine and all but mostly Changmin’s reviewing what Limbo has decided should be his and Yunho’s origin story, and grinning. “I see you make the worst impression in all universes, Yunho-yah,” he can’t help but say, stepping in close like he’s going to kiss Yunho.

Yunho stares back at him, almost embarrassed. “Shut up,” he says, even as his own eyes track Changmin’s mouth. “Uh—”

“I’m not living through puberty again,” Changmin interrupts him, stepping closer still and lacing his hands behind Yunho’s back. “And I refuse to live in the same house with them or share the stage with them,” he continues. He shoots their surroundings a look. “You hear that?”

With an almost disappointed groan, the house shifts, going somehow darker and more dour. There are still empty spaces lining the walls, places where dust says there should be photos, and the entire atmosphere seems depressing. Changmin looks around at it, mouth open to comment, before the Yunho in his arms registers, and he steps back as if burned.

The Yunho before him is older still—mid-twenties, now, probably—with short dark hair and eyeliner. His clothes are nicer, the shoes he’s wearing making him look taller than Changmin ever remembers him being at this age, and he’s frowning, looking up at Changmin almost like he’s mad. 

He reaches a hand out to take Changmin by the ear, the cold of his hands shocking, making Changmin shift back. “Your ears,” he says, almost to himself.

“What—” Changmin starts to say, before the memories of this timeline wash over him. “Oh—” So they who shall not be named were awful in all universes, it seems. And his and Yunho’s future is up in the air. 

Yunho lets his hand fall between them, the lack of rings suddenly all Changmin can see. He grabs it before it can drop all the way, fingers tracing the empty space. There’s not even a tan line. It’s weird.

“TVXQ,” Yunho tries out, shifting in the kitchen of his family home. Now that Changmin looks, he can tell it’s different from the other one—newer. Still Gwangju, he knows that in his bones, but clearly this Yunho—idol Yunho—did what real life Yunho did and got his family something with his first paycheck. 

“Tohoshinki,” Changmin tries out in Japanese. 

Yunho smiles, tightening his grip on Changmin’s hand. “I like it—”

“What are you doing? You have to be at the airport to meet with Matsuura-sachou in twenty minutes!” a voice says—Yunho’s father, striding into the kitchen to send the two of them apart almost guiltily, expression looking no less grim. He spares Changmin a glance, before crossing to straighten Yunho’s clothes, the hang of his jacket, the hem of his sleeves. “You’ll be fine,” the man says quietly, not looking away from the fabric. “He’d be stupid to take their side.”

Changmin reviews what he knows about the situation thanks to dream logic, and decides that Limbo is scarily effective at putting a subject in the middle of a situation. 

Yunho hums, since it’s clear his father isn’t expecting a response, and then seems to freeze when the older man pulls him in for an awkward hug. 

“Um,” Yunho says. “Dad?”

“I’m proud of you, son,” Yunho’s dad says, before there’s a knock on their door, and a man—their manager, Changmin realizes suddenly—is stepping into the entryway with a bow to Yunho’s mother. 

“Yunho-yah. Changmin-ah. We have to go,” the man says quietly.

Yunho’s father pulls free with a too-loud cough, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

Changmin hates how he knows this Yunho and him aren’t supposed to hold hands or get along or anything, at this point—too raw and angry about the betrayal of their closest friends. He can do that easily, only has to think about the real Crebeau Cosmetics betrayal, and waking up in that hotel next to Yunho’s vacant eyes. But he wants to hold Yunho’s hand. Wants to clutch him to him and kiss him and hide him from the world. 

He doesn’t. He follows Yunho’s lead when their manager ushers them out to a nondescript car, and slides sunglasses over his face when they’re rushed through a backdoor into the airport. 

“2013,” Yunho says suddenly, as they’re waiting to board their plane, tucked away into a corner stoically. 

Changmin shifts to show he’s heard him but makes no other move to speak. 

“I think we should get together in 2013,” Yunho continues. “That’s, what, two years?”

Changmin blinks. 

“I think that’s long enough to punish you for not telling me about our time in Limbo.”

Changmin’s mouth drops open before he can help himself. “For your own _safety_!” he sputters.

Yunho’s shoulder’s shrug nonchalantly, but when Changmin forces him to drop the sunglasses, his eyes are serious. “Long enough to punish me,” he admits finally. 

Changmin stares at him with his mouth still open. “Hyung,” he manages eventually. “Yunho. Yunho-hyung.”

Yunho stands, glasses back on over his eyes. “I’m going to the bathroom,” he says, loud enough for their managers to hear. Both men nod, eyes on their phones, their bodyguards watching the crowd anxiously. Apparently, it’s been dicey, since the news broke. The fan response has been mostly bad—Yunho and Changmin on the short end, they who shall not be named riding the wings of martyrdom to safety. 

Changmin waits for Yunho to be almost to the water fountain before going to follow. “Me too,” he tells their managers, and then grins at their protests before he can help himself. It seems that’s still the same, his love of the chase, of breaking the rules, all the things that got him into dreamshare in the first place. It doesn’t really matter what they want, though, since this is Changmin’s dream. They settle, returning to their phones, and Changmin slinks away after Yunho, getting a real kick out of being able to wear sunglasses inside an airport and not be a complete dick. 

None of their so called fans stop him on the way to the bathroom, and once he’s there, it’s almost easy to put an out of order sign in front of the door, shift the locking mechanisms so no one can follow them in. 

Yunho’s standing over by the sink staring into his twenty-five-year-old eyes, expression unreadable with the sunglasses off and his hands under what has to be burning hot water based on the steam. 

Changmin crosses the tiled floor to stand beside him, shoving his own glasses onto his head. After a look at Yunho’s rapidly pinking skin, he shuts off the faucet. The bathroom goes rather abruptly silent. Changmin lets it stew for a moment, before breaking it. “Please tell me you didn’t vanish some poor man,” he says. Gesturing towards the empty stalls when Yunho’s gaze meets him in the mirror. The man’s lips quirk and Changmin swears. “Damn, I’ve always wanted to do that,” he mutters. “The only time I could ever get away with it would be in your brain, probably, and every time I was there I was too busy trying to—” He stops again, guilt swarming his stomach, and raising the temperature in the room. 

Yunho gives him a long look.

Changmin sighs. “What about two years because we’re taking it slow, this time around,” he offers finally, like an olive branch.

Yunho finally turns to look at him, one hip leaning up against the bathroom counter. His head tilts to one side. 

“No more self-flagellation,” Changmin continues. “No more wallowing. No more.” He lifts his head, throat bobbing with his own nerves as he pushes the guilt away to make room for forgiveness. “Blaming ourselves for things we didn’t do or didn’t remember.” He tries out a smile. “I think I’ve done enough of that for the both of us.”

Yunho looks at him for a moment, before slowly an answering, honest smile starts to break out across his face. “It’s a plan, Changdol,” he says. “I love you.” 

Changmin takes his hand and gives it a squeeze, before turning his attention towards the bathroom door. “And fifty years from now I’ll propose to you properly,” he says, as he begins the arduous process of getting Yunho to the front door. “But for now—can you believe we’re the type of assholes who wear sunglasses indoors?”

As expected, Yunho digs his heels in in protest, but lets Changmin hook the shades into his shirt collar anyway. “Well we have had a rough couple of months,” he says.

Changmin shakes his head. “Typical,” he says. “Idol life is not what I was promised, Yunho-yah.”

Yunho gives him a look. “It’s not even been a day!” he protests. “And I’m not the one who dreamed JYJ into this—that is entirely _your_ doing, Mr. ‘I know Jaejoong is in Madagascar because I called him up and _breathed_ at him for five minutes’—”

“That was _one time_ and he _deserved it_ for what he did to you!” Changmin snarls, before he can help himself, heat high in both ears.

Yunho has the decency to wince, before reaching out to touch the shell of Changmin’s ears. 

“What—” Changmin says again.

“Your ears,” Yunho mutters. “I love your ears. I’ve always loved your ears.”

Changmin’s starting to be afraid he’s going to _lose_ said ears they’re so hot with embarrassment. “You—you—”

“I looked us up online before you came in,” Yunho continues, still tracing the curve of Changmin’s left ear. “Limbo is amazing—they even got your adorable blond mullet right.” 

“For the last time we will not mention the fucking mullet!” says Changmin.

Yunho laughs, spinning suddenly so that he can back Changmin up against the bathroom door and kiss him. He pulls back after two seconds, face drawn, mouth going pinched. 

“What?” Changmin says again, well and truly distracted by the scent of him. 

“That’s it?” says Yunho. “I get nothing for two years and that’s all you’re going to give me? A kiss you’d give your grandmother—”

“I’ll show you your grandmother,” mutters Changmin nonsensically, and in one coordinated move, shoves Yunho up against the door and _kisses_ him. “You’re lucky this is a dream and you can just forge yourself back to normal,” he continues, in between biting, bruising, lose your mind kisses, one thigh wedged between Yunho’s and both hands already messing up the man’s perfect, idol bangs. “Your hair’s too short—”

“Maybe,” Yunho manages. “Maybe they’ll make it longer, later—”

“And blond,” Changmin decides. “I might as well as see what the big deal is.”

Yunho grins at him with crescents in the corners of his eyes. “Two years is a long time, Changdol-ah,” he says, fisting a hand in the collar of Changmin’s shirt. “This is Limbo. Show me what I’m missing—”

And Changmin does. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr masterpost](https://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/185391613090/homin-fic-its-alright-even-if-you-hate-me) || [Twitter masterpost](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/1167942639158616064?s=20)


	12. Interlude: Kyuhyun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omfg I'm so sorry this took so long. /flees

At exactly four-point-eight hours on the dot, Kyuhyun’s watch beeps, signifying that it’s time for the team to be going down to the third and final level. He stands to stretch his legs and to watch, coming to stand in front of Changmin, like looking at the micro-expressions on his best friend’s face will at all give away what’s going on two levels down. 

Heechul-hyung keeps popping erections, which was horrifying to realize the first time around, but at this point Kyuhyun’s honestly getting used to it—in fact, he’s almost intrigued by the automatic response to stimulus one full level down. But clearly it’s working, if Kaito is so taken in with Heechul-hyung’s version of his ex that Heechul-hyung’s body is responding quite so… arduously. 

Changmin and Yunho-hyung remain utterly unmoving, however, and Kyuhyun honestly feels like he might go insane, the way his thoughts keep rumbling about worst case scenarios.

He doesn’t even know the full story, what little he does know dragged out of Changmin like blood from a stone. He’s been to the dreamshare watering holes, poked and prodded where Changmin never would, and done his fair share of snarling down phone lines. He knows they were in Limbo, that Kim Jaejoong is the worst of the worst, that Park Yoochun sucks at poker and is the sort of chemist who’d forget to tell the assholes he’s double crossing with that they can’t actually shoot their coworkers awake because of the sedative. He knows that Junsu still feels guilty enough that he refuses to work jobs with Hyukjae, regardless of the fact that the man refuses to lose him in the metaphorical divorce.

He knows that Yunho-hyung came back different afterwards. Knows he put a gun in his mouth and refused to believe reality was reality afterwards.

Changmin won’t tell him why, but Kyuhyun’s not stupid.

He knows it has to be inception.

It’s why he agreed to take this job in the first place, never mind what he lets Yunho-hyung believe. They might make fun, but Kyumacin is in high demand, and Kyuhyun doesn’t actually need to work in dreamshare anymore.

But in no universe was he going to let Changmin try to do inception without backup.

And with good reason, it seems.

Given the absolute mess his best friend is over a kiss.

One fucking _kiss_.

If it wasn’t so goddamn dire, Kyuhyun would almost want to film them and sell it, they’re such idiots. Dancing around each other to the point where even Ara noticed, where Siwon-hyung not so subtly started taking bets for when they’d get their shit together. (Kyuhyun put in for the moment the job ends, because he’s not an idiot, but he still made a huge fuss about the thing because if it got back to Changmin he was pretty sure Changmin was going to lose it). 

Not that what Changmin’s been doing since the kiss and even before then has been anything remotely close to composed or at all sound, as it were. Changmin’s been flying by the seat of his pants since he and Yunho-hyung came back from Limbo.

And now here they are, back under with a sedative, and Kyuhyun keeps biting his nails bloody trying not to think about it. 

He sighs, rolling his head back, and slumps back against the bed.

He checks his watch.

It’s been six minutes.

He has thirty more until the kick. 

He shuts his eyes.

 

* * *

 

If asked, Kyuhyun would say what he did to wake them up was far more sophisticated than pushing them each off various surfaces of Kaito and Isamu’s apartment while blasting ‘Likey’ by Twice. But in reality, Kyuhyun tipped each of them off various surfaces of Kaito and Isamu’s apartment to the beat of Sana starting the chorus. 

He maybe knows the dance. 

He maybe does the dance, and only because he’s waking Heechul-hyung first, and Heechul-hyung would appreciate it. 

He tips Ara next, careful to make sure she hits a rug. 

Siwon-hyung follows, and then, with a mild glance to watch them all groan and lift themselves out of their slumber all the while complaining about the volume of the music, he goes to hoist Yunho-hyung off the floor. He feels weird just dropping the man, but now that everyone is watching him, he feels weird holding his lifeless body in his arms. He lets him hit the floor, ignoring everyone else around him, then moves for Changmin.

“Ah, Kyuhyun-ah,” says Heechul-hyung, but Kyuhyun’s too busy lifting his best friend.

“Aish, Shim Chwang, we really need to hit the gym, it seems,” he mutters, because last he checked he didn’t remember Changmin being quite this heavy, and then lets his best friend hit the floor with a thud.

It’s surprisingly satisfying. 

Kyuhyun grins, dusting his hands, before looking over at the rest of them.

Siwon-hyung has found the phone blasting ‘Likey’ and shuts off the song mid-bridge, wincing at the volume.

Kaito remains sleeping on the couch—they’ll wake him once it’s safe to do so and everyone is out of the apartment except for Heechul-hyung. Kyuhyun doesn’t know what the man is doing on the second level, but he figures they’d left him with his own projection of Isamu, at least.

“How did it go?” he asks, turning towards Changmin for his answer.

Then he stops, confused.

On the floor, crumpled up into an awkward pile, Changmin sleeps on. A glance to his side shows Yunho-hyung doing much the same, expression pinched.

Kyuhyun stares. “Shim Chwang-ah?” he tries, confused. “Um—”

It’s Heechul-hyung who answers, crossing the floor to wind away the IV lines. He pulls Kaito’s out with careful practice, not breathing, but the other man doesn’t stir. He won’t until he falls—Kyuhyun’s not an amateur—but Kyuhyun’s too busy staring at his comatose best friend to be offended on behalf of his skills.

“What’s going on?” he asks Heechul-hyung, mouth turned down.

Heechul-hyung finishes winding up his and Siwon’s IVs, then turns to help Ara.

Ara waves him off, her attention focused on Qian and Kaito. Qian was the dreamer for the second level, so they can’t pull her plug without risking the integrity of the second dream, but Kyuhyun is more focused on the fact that Ara came back. Ara was the dreamer on the third level. If she’s awake, what sort of hell are Changmin and Yunho-hyung suffering.

“What’s going on?” Kyuhyun says again, tone brooking no arguments.

Heechul-hyung winces, and wipes at the side of his mouth. “There were complications on the third level,” the man says finally. His voice sounds ruined, like he was screaming or something. Rough. He won’t meet Kyuhyun’s eyes.

“Complications,” Kyuhyun says.

Heechul-hyung sinks to his knees on the ground, casting his attention towards Yunho-hyung. “Ayame shot Yunho,” he says.

Kyuhyun feels the ground lurch, and knows it’s him, not plane turbulence. 

“Changmin—” Heechul-hyung fumbles, uncertain.

“Changmin went after him,” Kyuhyun determines, with the practice of being the man’s best friend. He knows Changmin. He knows enough about the situation to know what Changmin would do—hell, Changmin would have followed Yunho-hyung into Limbo even if it wasn’t likely to send them both on a backward spiral. “Fuck,” Kyuhyun curses, crossing the room to stare fruitlessly into one of the mirrors on Kaito’s wall. 

The face that looks back at him is tired with red rimmed eyes. 

“Fuck,” Kyuhyun swears again, and wipes at them. “That fucker.”

Heechul-hyung visibly deflates, sitting in the middle of the room looking lost. “Yeah.”

Siwon crosses to sit beside him, dropping down onto his knees next to him, and holding strong when Heechul-hyung leans into him.

“We couldn’t even explain to Qian before you were waking us,” Ara says quietly. “She’s probably freaking out.”

Kyuhyun winces, imagining it. “He hasn’t told her,” he confirms.

When Heechul-hyung looks at him questioningly, he meets the man’s eyes full on.

“About Limbo,” Kyuhyun explains. “I only know because I can drink him under the table.”

Siwon whistles, clearly impressed. 

Kyuhyun would normally smirk, but not this time. “She’s smart,” he says. “She can think on her feet.” He winces. “She’ll keep them out of the way so that Kaito can’t stumble upon them by accident.”

As one, they all turn to regard their mark, Kyuhyun still using the mirror. 

Then Heechul-hyung exhales. “You knew,” he says. It’s not a question.

Kyuhyun runs a hand through his hair with a sigh. “That they’d been in Limbo?” he says. “Yeah.”

Ara is exchanging a look with Siwon, and Kyuhyun finally turns around to face them. 

“I don’t know the full story,” he adds. “But I—” He pauses, uncertain how to continue. “I don’t have any problems asking the others.”

Heechul-hyung seems to hunch in on himself, and for some odd reason he looks like he might be ill.

“I do know that Yunho-hyung doesn’t remember,” Kyuhyun continues. “And the reason that Changmin didn’t tell him is he—”

“Thinks it’s all a dream,” Heechul-hyung concludes, looking even more nauseated. “Fuck,” he swears. 

Siwon puts a hand on his arm, and then glares at Kyuhyun like it’s his fault.

Kyuhyun stares back, unbothered. “They did inception,” he explains to Ara, seeing she’s clearly the most confused, and knowing he’ll have to take Qian aside and explain the moment they wake her and Kaito. He’ll take Changmin and Yunho-hyung’s body to his own apartment on this level, lock them in the bedroom and monitor them until the sedative passes out of their systems and they can all wake up back on the plane.

If they wake up—

When they wake up, Kyuhyun will be right there. And if they don’t, he can always go in after them.

Almost as if reading his mind, Ara frowns at him. “She won’t let you,” she says.

Kyuhyun looks at her in a different light.

“She’ll shoot you awake herself,” the woman explains, and then nods towards Qian. 

Kyuhyun hates to concede her point, but he knows his friend. Qian’s always been the more romantic of the two of them anyway, and when she wakes up, she probably won’t have any doubt that Changmin will be able to find Yunho-hyung.

But Kyuhyun would have thought Changmin would have found him immediately, and then counted down to the kick with the rest of them and woken up now.

That he hasn’t is… worrying.

Kyuhyun sighs. He crosses to stand in front of Changmin’s unmoving body, then nudges him with a toe. “You asshole,” he says. “He can’t be worth it.” He wants to laugh—of course he is, Changmin would say, practically frothing at the mouth. And then if Kyuhyun tried to agree, he’d go snarling for a whole other reason, jealousy practically leaking from his pores. “Yah.” He gives Changmin another poke with a toe. “You’d better wake up and yell at me for implying Yunho-hyung isn’t worth it,” he says. “You’d better wake up so that I can yell at you for being so stupid,” he says quieter. “You’d better wake up,” he whispers.

Then he rolls his shoulders back. “Right,” he says, shooting a look at the rest of them. “Take them out the door—there should be a closet in the hallway—it’ll take you straight to the elevator. I’m apartment 203. Put them in there.” He looks at Ara and Siwon both, and then reaches for the PASIV. He hands it to Ara and watches Siwon pick up Yunho-hyung and Changmin both with the strength only given by dreams. 

“What about you?” Ara asks.

Kyuhyun turns to Heechul-hyung, already shifting into Isamu’s form. 

Qian will be him in the time it takes for them to wake Kaito from the nightmare of a dream without a dreamer, but as soon as she finds an opportunity, she’ll swap out with Heechul-hyung.

Heechul-hyung will spend the next two and a half days playing house, and then they’ll all shoot themselves awake on the plane once the sedative wears off.

“I’ll stay with Heechul-hyung,” Kyuhyun tells Ara.

She nods, then comes forwards very suddenly to give him a hug around the PASIV. “Good luck,” she whispers. “Try not to get shot.”

Kyuhyun surprised for a second, but then hugs her back. “Thanks,” he whispers.

She vanishes silently with Siwon-hyung, and Kyuhyun watches her go with his head tilted to the side.

“Kyuhyun-ah,” Heechul-hyung starts to say.

“Say nothing,” Kyuhyun interrupts him, going over to pick Qian up bridal style. He figures he can dump her on the couch and they’ll be fine. “Or I’ll ask you about how you were all over Siwon-hyung.”

Not at all cowed, Heechul-hyung mimes zipping his lips anyway. The gesture looks weird on Isamu’s face, but Kyuhyun pays it no need. He drops Qian.

The woman comes awake fighting, but thankfully doesn’t manage to land a punch. “What. The fuck?” she says, as soon as she sees Heechul-hyung. “Changmin and Yunho-oppa didn’t wake up.”

Heechul-hyung winces. “Well—”

“We don’t have time for this,” Kyuhyun says, too aware of the time dilation. “Come on.” He leans to help Qian up. “You need to be Isamu—”

With a shrug, Qian pulls free of his helping hand and slides into an eerie copy of Isamu.

Heechul-hyung steps forward to look at her, gaze curious—before stopping. “Wait,” he says. “Why should she stay—”

“Good point,” says Qian, sliding back into her own skin without a pause. “I always wondered when you’d figure that out. Bye, Oppa.” She links arms with Kyuhyun and practically drags him out of the apartment. “You better wake him quickly! Time dilation, and all.”

They leave Heechul-hyung gaping, but Kyuhyun’s perfectionism doesn’t let him leave until he hears the sound of Kaito being tipped unceremoniously onto the floor, and Heechul-hyung’s startled voice. 

Qian follows Kyuhyun into the closet without comment, and then comes to stand in front of Changmin and Yunho-hyung’s sleeping bodies still silently. Then, she raises a brow. “Well?”

Kyuhyun sinks down on the armchair and stares at them, arranged to share a couch by Siwon and Ara like they’re lovers passed out at a party, and not trapped in their own subconscious. Again. “It’s a long story.”

Qian sinks down onto the arm of the chair. “We have two and a half days,” she says. “Spill.”

Kyuhyun does.

Two and a half days later, Ara is right. 

Kyuhyun wakes up all set to go in after Changmin, worried to the point of being useless, but before he can so much as voice such a plan, Qian knocks him out. “I am not losing two best friends,” is the last thing Kyuhyun hears from her, before it all goes dark.

He wakes up alongside the lot of them, meeting up in an empty apartment right on schedule. Heechul-hyung’s already taken care of Kaito, killing him painlessly the moment the sedative worked off, and then taking his own life shortly following. They figured it was better to stagger their waking up, so that Kaito wouldn’t think it odd, or anything.

Not that Kyuhyun thinks the man will notice—sleeping on planes has always felt rather like being drugged to him, anyway, and Kaito was actually drugged.

He’s just glad that it worked, if Heechul-hyung is to believed.

Kyuhyun would have been more content to hear it from Changmin, but given Changmin remains presumed asleep and fucking _hidden_ from him, he can’t very well ask him. 

“Qian,” Kyuhyun snaps, livid beyond belief, but the woman only looks at him, unimpressed, and shoots him point blank.

She doesn’t even apologize.  

And then they’re on the plane, and Kyuhyun can’t do anything but smile when Hyukjae comes into view, expression concerned. Heechul-hyung stands directly next to him, eyes hard and fixed around the curtain into the first class cabin. When Kyuhyun looks at him, he shakes his head.  

They have four more hours on the flight.

If Changmin doesn’t wake up by the end of it, Kyuhyun’s going under to get him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr masterpost](https://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/185391613090/inception) || [Twitter masterpost](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/1193185058720534530)


	13. The End | February 2019

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Hexmen, for not only betaing this, but betaing it assuming the worst ~~b/c my muse is awful and I forgot to let her know certain outcomes~~. Also shout out to Scar, without whom this would never have been made (watch the movie again. you know you want to). Special mention to Kinah, for the amazing graphics. They're truly 10/10.

At near-eighty, Yunho is as glorious as he’d been at thirty-three, at twenty-five, at sixteen. He’s got crow’s feet and grey hair and hasn’t walked the same since a fall during preparation for their thirtieth anniversary concert, complete with songs that hadn’t seen the light of day since the early two-thousands. 

He walks ahead of Changmin down the beach, barefooted and gorgeous, and still, he takes Changmin’s breath away.

“I know, I know. Me first,” he says, not looking at Changmin but instead looking out towards the waves. They’re particularly angry this morning—almost like they know, but no matter of fighting can ever really turn them black and grey, anymore. 

Changmin and Yunho are far too content for that.

Fifty-four years will do that to a person, it seems.

Changmin has an no idea where Yunho is leading them, but he has an inkling. And of course he’s going to follow. “You first?” 

Yunho finally twists to look back at him, fumbling over a divot in the sand, and then waving away Changmin’s concern. He gets his feet under him and squints back the way they’d come. “It has to be here,” he says. “We’ve passed Pont Neuf and everything.”

Changmin follows his gaze back to the somehow still pristine stretch of French bridge, then blinks. “Are you trying to find our elevator?” he says.

“There!” says Yunho, pointing, then looks at Changmin. “Oh, yes,” he says, reaching for Changmin’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “I thought it would be poetic, or something.”

Changmin thinks about how they left the first time, the bitter taste of metal on his tongue, and nods. Falling seems as fine a way to go as any, he supposes. Certainly, it was how they’d planned to go originally. 

“How mad do you think Kyuhyun is going to be?” he asks Yunho. 

Yunho shifts so that he can better interlace their hands. “Hmm?” It’s clear he’s not really listening, too busy tracing a path down the beach, toes dipping in and out between grains of sand. 

“Kyuhyun,” says Changmin again, charmed despite himself. “Livid.” He holds Yunho’s hand hard, biting back concern as yet another dip in the shoreline tries to trip them both up. “How mad do you think he’ll be when we get back?”

Yunho draws them to a stop, the towering, rusting frame of their elevator suddenly looming over them. 

If he squints, Changmin thinks he can see the old metal starting to peel away. They never come out here anymore—not since they hit retirement and stopped performing every other day. There have been other beaches—all of Europe for them to explore in their old age; that stint in two-thousand-whatever when Yunho decided it would be fun if they did more than just live as idols or a pre-school teacher and chef, and instead embraced the wonder of Limbo itself, of dreams, of the things that brought them together in the first place.

They made Penrose stairs and never ending hallways and tried their hand at space travel, time travel, living-out-of-cars travel. 

They lived.

Together.

Changmin holds Yunho’s hand so hard it has to hurt.

Yunho grips right back. “We timed it perfectly, though.”

Changmin twists to look at him, startled suddenly as his whole self seems to shimmer. Gone are the lines, the age, the crinkles from laughing so hard their stomachs hurt. Gone is the limp, the unsteady gait, and the height he lost around fifty comes back so that for the two seconds it takes for Changmin’s entire self to arrange to match him, he seems to tower over Changmin.

“Your hair is blue,” says Changmin quietly, feeling out the newness of youth under his skin. His bones don’t ache, and his hair keeps getting in his eyes, and he thinks if he could see himself, it would be red to match Yunho’s.

Yunho looks at him, swinging their hands together between them and grinning. “I liked it,” he says. “Next job, I want to forge.”

Changmin steps closer to him, stopping only when their noses almost bump, and stares hard into his eyes like he’ll be able to see his own reflection. “Next job?”

Yunho looks back at him, lashes fluttering as he zeroes in on the slope of Changmin’s nose, his mouth. “Changminnie,” he says, tone bemused. He lifts their still-clasped hands up between them, angling around so that he can set his lips against the back of Changmin’s. “You’re not thinking this is the end, are you?”

Changmin’s heart does that thing it always does, when Yunho kisses him, only this time there’s no irrational fear that he’s going to drop dead of old age and true love. “Well we have lived two full lives together,” he manages.

Yunho keeps his lips pressed to the skin of Changmin’s hand, eyes laughing. “True.” He grins, laying one last kiss against the joint of Changmin’s wrist, then pulls back. “But not on purpose.”

Changmin swallows, both memories of strangers putting bullets into Yunho unfortunately crystalline way they’ll only ever be in Limbo. “True,” he parrots back to Yunho.

Yunho lets their hands drop, and presses his own somewhere close to Changmin’s chest, right up against his heart. “Let’s not go for three, though,” he says quietly, thumb rubbing circles in time to the sudden thunder of Changmin’s pulse.

Changmin swallows, fighting not to flex in response. He’s reverted back to how he was at thirty-one when he was a world famous star, not thirty-one years old and on the run from the military and police alike. Not that Changmin’s ever been anything less than in-shape, having gone from the military straight to life as a fugitive and criminal, but he’s seen the photos. He’s watched the fancams, stood in front of the mirrors and made his pectorals jump for his own drunken amusement, for his pleasure, for Yunho’s. He’s kind of attached to looking like a walking wet dream, honestly.

Yunho tightens his hold on Changmin’s chest. “Yah,” he says. “I’m being incredibly sentimental right now and you’re thinking about your _chest_.”

Changmin doesn’t even deny it, giving in and giving Yunho’s hand a small nudge hello. Then he lifts his own hand, quick as you like because Yunho very well could drop him in less than two breaths. “Would you rather I think about your chest?” he says, as he does so, copping more than a few feels in the time it takes for Yunho to yelp and startle and back away. “I’m sorry. I’d hate to make you feel left out—”

“Changdol—stop that—are you _addressing my chest_?”

“I’m sorry,” Changmin says again, raising both hands and stalking forward, both eyes on the chest in question. “You know you’re my one and only.”

“Changmin-ah!” Yunho’s voice sounds high and breathy and not at all unaffected. He’s got both of his hands clutched defensively in front of himself, as if that will somehow help.

Changmin softens his claws into something more gentle. He reaches past the tangle of Yunho’s fingers and smooths both palms against the spread of him, shivering a little at the pebble of the man’s nipples, already hard in anticipation. “Yunho-hyung—”

“We are not fucking on this beach again,” Yunho says, breath already coming harder and eyes darting between Changmin’s eyes, mouth, and then down to where Changmin’s hands are clutching at him. “We are not.”

Changmin takes a few more steps closer, not at all interested in getting sand down his pants, but not at all willing to let Yunho in on that just yet.

Yunho backs up again, pace uncoordinated with arousal. “We are not,” he says. “Sand,” he tries. “Changdol—”

Changmin tilts down and kisses him, sweet and soft and almost hesitant, like he thinks Yunho might not let him. 

Of course Yunho does, protests cutting off abruptly as the whole of him seems to press into Changmin, his chin tipping up and to the side so that they slide together just so. 

Changmin kneads at his chest, licks in behind his front teeth. He shut shits his eyes. He sighs. He calls the elevator down.

The doors ding.

Yunho stills.

Their eyes open, pupils so large it’s like they’re filled with the night sky. 

“Oh,” breathes Yunho.

“Yeah,” agrees Changmin. 

“So you really wanted your our last moments in Limbo to be—”

“Feeling you up?” says Changmin, giving Yunho’s nipples a quick pinch before the other man can protest. “Absolutely.” 

Yunho shudders against him, lashes fluttering and feet shifting.

“This is Limbo, Yunho-hyung,” says Changmin. “Uncharted dream space.”

Yunho’s got a look on his face like he’s starting to come around to the sand in the pants thing, and Changmin loves him more than the entire world but he doesn’t think he could do it again. Once was them getting together, twice was them coming together, thrice would be… a pattern. And a worrying once, since the next time they’d be on a beach it would be a _real beach_. With _real sand_. 

Changmin loves Yunho more than the entire world.

It’s likely he’d risk sandburn for the man.

“I feel you up in all of my dreams, Yunho-hyung,” finishes Changmin, and then draws back and into the elevator before Yunho can retaliate.

For two seconds Yunho doesn’t follow, and then the elevator doors shudder a little almost in chastisement.

“Fuck,” Yunho swears, cheeks pink. He climbs in after Changmin, getting as close as possible in the surprisingly cramped space. There are still flowers blooming on the ceiling, mirrors everywhere else. 

Changmin doesn’t know where to look—at Yunho, or at the reflection of them both, dressed in black suit pants and billowy white dress shirts, feet bare, hair tinted blue and red. 

“Not all of them,” says Yunho.

Changmin has to take a moment to rejoin the conversation. “No,” he concedes. “But from now on?”

Yunho’s throat bobs. “As long as it doesn’t offend the mark,” he manages.

Changmin tilts his head.

“Or distract our teammates.”

Changmin tilts his head other way.

“Maybe—” Yunho bites at his bottom lip, eyes heated. “Maybe just before the jobs _start—_ ”

Changmin has to kiss him again, has to press him against the glass and the flowers and _kiss him_ , until the elevator realizes that they still would like for it to take them to the top of their wall. 

The doors open.

They both step out.

“I—” Yunho says, holding hands staring down at the ocean. “Changdol—”

“I love you,” Changmin says. 

They fall.

 

* * *

 

New York is—

Broken, in disarray, the shell of a hotel—

 

* * *

 

Tokyo is—

Cold, silent,  missing humanity—

 

* * *

 

Osaka is—

Familiar, busy, falling apart—

 

* * *

 

Changmin wakes on the plane, cheek shoved uncomfortably into his own shoulder, with drying tails of drool down one cheek. His limbs feel dead weight, his eyes, sealed shut with what feels like layers of sand, and when he finally manages to unfold into something less like an uncomfortable pretzel, he sees Cho Kyuhyun standing over him, expression unreadable. 

“Kyu,” he rasps, staring up at the man. “Yunho-hyung—”

“Would you like something to drink, Sir?” says Kyuhyun, in perfect, pristine Korean.

Changmin stares up at him for a long while blinking. “What—”

His friends shifts, the cart of beverages beside him suddenly becoming even more apparent. 

Changmin glances down, brow furrowing at lack of needle in his arm, before casting his gaze around the rest of the cabin.

Ara catches his eyes first, smiling, before her attention turns back towards her phone.

Siwon-hyung’s hunched over what looks like an American newspaper, mouthing and tracing the words.

Changmin doesn’t look at Qian or Kaito. 

Hyukjae-hyung and Heechul-hyung are barely visible tucked behind a partially drawn curtain, exchanging cash and frowning. 

Changmin blinks, looking back down at his arm. “What—”

“I took it out,” says Kyuhyun softly, patting the drink cart again. “Water?”

“Yes, please,” says Changmin finally. His voice doesn’t feel like his own, foreign to his own ears. It must be the air pressure. “Yes—I—Ky—Yes.” He stops, suddenly very frightened, and waits for Kyuhyun to get him a plastic cup and two cubes of ice. The water pours cleanly, covering the ice with barely a tinkle. 

Kyuhyun bows, expression friendly, and then when he’s down there, mutters, “You fucking _bastard_ if you ever do that again I will fucking come in after you and strangle you _myself—_ ” before standing back up again, customer service smile back in place. 

Changmin stares up at him, still disoriented, and watches as he shifts to the other row, finally letting his mind wander towards Kaito. The other man looks utterly unchanged as he accepts his own drink of water, expression perfectly polite. Though as Changmin watches, he twists and twists the ring around his finger—a class ring, Changmin thinks. He seems to pick up on Changmin watching and smiles.

Changmin very quickly quirks his lips back—idol training hard to unlearn, it seems—before turning his gaze forward.

To the back of Yunho’s head. 

To Yunho.

If he shifts his head to the side, Changmin can just make out Qian. 

He watches her, notes the rise and fall of her shoulders in fake slumber, before turning his attention back to Yunho.

He swallows.

The problem is they don’t know each other, on this plane.

The problem is Changmin can’t see Yunho’s eyes.

The problem is Changmin remembers everything, and if he has to tell Yunho again he thinks he might cry. 

Changmin breathes. 

And then, so slowly that Changmin almost doesn’t notice, Yunho’s posture shifts. He doesn’t turn his head, doesn’t move so that Changmin might think he’d turn, but his shoulders shift and his head tilts and then one hand, curled loosely into an innocent looking fist lifts into Changmin’s view.

Changmin blinks, then stares, then _blinks_ , as Yunho’s fingers arrange themselves into a thumbs up.

Changmin stares.

“Hyung,” he can’t help but breathe.

Kaito probably won’t notice. He certainly seems preoccupied, still twisting his ring, both eyes staring at nothing out the window. 

Yunho keeps his hand in the shape of a thumbs up—for his grandfather, Changmin’s brain produces. For happiness. For unbroken promises, and two lives undreamed. 

“Hyung,” Changmin says again. 

Yunho’s head dips, the nod clear as day.

Changmin goes boneless in the seat, eyes staring at nothing on the ceiling. He’s very suddenly struck with the urge to laugh.

When he finds Kyuhyun’s concerned look, he grins.

From his friend’s only rapidly widening gaze, Changmin figures he looks more than a little deranged. 

He doesn’t care.

He and Yunho just survived fucking _Limbo_.

Again.

And they did inception.

Again.

“Excuse me, Flight Attendant-nim.”

Kyuhyun comes to his side, brow raised. 

“May I see the wine list?” says Changmin.

 

* * *

 

In New York, after deplaning, Siwon-hyung and Kaito vanish off to do billionaire things, Hyukjae-hyung, Heechul-hyung, and Kyuhyun stay on the plane in uniform, Qian and Ara wander off lugging carry-on suitcases, and Changmin does his best to follow Yunho in the most unobtrusive way possible. 

By all means he ought to be getting distracted—everything is so new and foreign, from the people, the merchandise, the voices over the loudspeakers. But Changmin’s focus is like a bloodhound, and Yunho’s sweeter than anything he’s ever followed. 

Two minutes later, Yunho is dipping into a bathroom, Changmin hot on his heels, and there are people in the place with them but Changmin doesn’t care, following the man into a stall with a single-mindedness he thinks Yunho would have been proud of, back when he was U-Know Yunho. 

“Oh, um, well,” the man in the bathroom with them says from outside the stall door in English. “That’s, uh, one stall—”

Changmin keeps silent, staring at the back of Yunho’s head daring him to fucking _turn around_ so Changmin can see his eyes, and after a few moments he hears the sound of the man leaving. He has a whispered conversation just in the doorway with whoever is on their way in—something so quick and fast Changmin can’t pick up on enough to translate—and then somehow, amazingly, they’re alone.

Changmin stares hard at the back of Yunho’s head, before turning and pulling the door open so he can peek back out. “Did we actually wake up?” he says. “This feels familiar—”

He’s barely so much as finished speaking before Yunho is yanking him back inside the stall, slamming the door shut and bolting it, then pinning Changmin to it with the full of him. His eyes are practically electric, nervousness and foreign energy humming off him so hard Changmin’s teeth hurt. 

Changmin’s mouth is still open from when he’d been speaking, and he very rapidly shuts it with an audible clacking of teeth. “Er—”

“Lighter,” Yunho says.

Changmin pauses. “Do you want a smoke?” he says. “I thought you quit—”

“Changdol.”

The nickname is like liquid lava down Changmin’s spine, the answering shiver making Yunho’s eyes somehow go even more incendiary. 

“Your totem,” the man enunciates. “Where is your _lighter_?”

Changmin darts his tongue over his lips. “Oh,” he says. “In my pocket— _hyung_!”

Yunho’s rifling through his pants pockets without any hesitance, unfortunately too quick to be more than serious. When that turns up empty, he shifts so that he’s not pinning Changmin quite so much and goes for his breast pockets, the move feeling very oddly like a reverse of—that morning, or whatever?

Changmin furrows his brow, the memories of Limbo and waking up all jumbled in his brain, around the same time Yunho gets the lighter out between them and grins.

“Watch?” manages Changmin.

Yunho passes him the thing so quickly Changmin wonders if he’s been whiteknuckling it this whole time. The metal certainly feels warm enough.

“No, I—” Changmin starts to say, at the same time Yunho flicks the lighter open and goes to click on the ignition. 

Changmin’s mouth falls open and his heart pounds. For two seconds, he honestly expects their faces to be illuminated by purple flame. 

Nothing happens. 

Changmin lets out a long breath of air. “It worked,” he says.

Yunho’s got an odd look on his face, an odd quirk to his lips. But then the expression is gone so fast Changmin thinks he imagined it. “Yeah,” he says around a smile. It’s a real smile, true and honest. 

Changmin grins back at him, giddy. “Hyung,” he says. “We did it—”

Yunho clicks the lighter shut, and then nudges a hand against the one Changmin’s got the watch in. “Now you,” he says.

“Hyung,” whines Changmin, but he opens the pocket watch without pause anyway. 

The second hand ticks backwards for a full sixty-seconds, and Changmin lifts his eyes with a huge smile. “Yunho-yah,” he murmurs.

Yunho expression is for a split-second devastated, but before Changmin can think more about that, he’s grinning again, sunny and happy and leaning up on his tiptoes so that he can kiss Changmin.

They touch and there’s static, literal, fucking _static_ , traveling between them and thudding Changmin’s head back against the bathroom stall door with a bang. “Ow—” Changmin’s already laughing, relieved and helpless and so happy he’s not sure how he’s still standing. “Smooth, Yunho-hyung. It’s definitely reality, then—” 

“Shut up, this doesn’t count as our first kiss,” snaps Yunho, cheeks coloring. He leans in again, nervous energy making him the most beautifully shy thing Changmin’s ever seen.

“It absolutely counts as our first kiss,” counters Changmin, and then tips down before Yunho can fight him on it. 

“Does not—” says Yunho, into Changmin’s mouth, before his eyes go shut and he gives himself over to Changmin fully.

Changmin groans, the noise ripped out of him almost involuntarily by the seal of Yunho’s lips over his. Yunho tastes like home and strawberries and the wine he totally lied about not having on the plane. Berries and bubblegum and fermented grapes—red like blood, like love, like Changmin’s suddenly pounding heart, so whole and wild and trying it’s hardest to escape Changmin’s chest so that it can nestle in behind Yunho’s. 

Maybe it’s not their first kiss. Maybe not hours before this Changmin was in his seventies and watching Yunho blow out birthday candles. Maybe he was fielding phone calls from what felt like all of the Seoul and Tokyo entertainment industries. Maybe Changmin knows soul deep what Yunho tastes like, feels like, loves like, _kisses_ like, and could probably sniff out a forge with lips and tongue alone.

It doesn’t matter.

Yunho remembers.

Yunho knows.

Changmin is going to ugly cry-kiss him, and nobody is ever going to know.

“Shut up,” says Changmin when they separate, sniffing unattractively. He tries to decide if he’s sunk so low as to use toilet paper as a tissue. “I’m goddamn eighty years-old.”

Yunho gazes up at him with fireworks dancing in his eyes, full on shoujo manga.

Changmin could just start crying all over again. “Just look somewhere else,” he says.

Yunho obliges, still grinning, and now Changmin’s getting flustered over how unfairly cut his jaw is, all sharp and unblemished and needing to be marked up yesterday. Changmin would shave him with a straight razor and nick him to just to leave traces. 

“Never mind,” says Changmin. “That’s not helping.”

Yunho turns back to face him, licking his lips. His tongue curls playfully between his teeth.

“I will—” Changmin starts to threaten, but then breaks off embarrassingly when the reality of the situation sets back in and he can’t even suggest anything too drastic in _jest_. “Stop…talking to you,” he tries, which has absolutely zero effect. “Stop… working with you,” he amends, which not even he’s convinced by. “Be… angry with you,” Changmin ends up with, expression more than a little miserable. “Fuck, leave me alone.”

Yunho smiles at him again and then shuffles forward so that they’re embracing. Although they’re more like leaned up against each other, since the bathroom stall was not built to handle two full grown men, especially when the shorter of the two could passably stand 184 centimeters on a good day. 

“Shut up,” Changmin mumbles, staring pointedly at Yunho’s forehead. “I am under a lot of stress.”

Yunho appears to mull that over, no doubt doing the necessary mental gymnastics to figure out just how long Changmin suffered that first time around, only seven months prior in reality, but a reality prior in dreams. “Oh.” His lips purse. “Yah.”

Changmin looks down at him, finally giving up on prideful decorum, and reaches for the toilet paper so that he can mop up the mess that is his face. He’s not looking at Yunho for too long, busy blowing and wiping his nose on the harsh paper. When that’s done, he looks around pointlessly, before tossing the wad into the open toilet. 

“ _Yah_ ,” Yunho says again, this time accompanied by a slap to Changmin’s chest.

Changmin stares down at him, lashes clumping. “Yes?”

Yunho hasn’t taken his hands off Changmin’s nipples, and Changmin doesn’t know what to feel.

Well.

Changmin knows what to feel, but Changmin thinks he ought not to be feeling it in a public restroom. Never mind that they’re in New York. 

“I thought we agreed no wallowing,” Yunho says. He slides his hand down Changmin’s body and leaves it fondling his hip, which might somehow be worse than the chest groping. 

“Yes,” says Changmin, because it has been years and he has mostly let it go—forgiven himself even. “But I’m still allowed to be scared.”

Yunho narrows his eyes at him.

“Irrationally scared,” Changmin corrects quickly. “Look, I’m a cynic. You knew this when you first met me—”

Yunho shrugs, seemingly involuntarily, and Changmin can’t even be mad.

“I was scared because I knew I’d have to tell you,” Changmin blurts out, the truth, but also a perfect excuse for his behavior. He tries not to look too smug.

Yunho nods at him, eyes dancing again. “Ah,” he drawls. “I see.”

Changmin could smack him. “It’s good I don’t have to,” he says instead. “It’s good you… remembered.” Now Changmin’s all emotional all over again. 

Fuck.

Yunho’s teasing expression softens. “Oh, Changminnie,” he says.

“Anyway,” Changmin says with great dignity. “What do you say we ditch this stall, ditch this bathroom—ditch this _country_.”

“Thank you,” says Yunho, still sentimental and pretty, before what Changmin’s said seems to sink in for him. “Wait, what?”

Changmin raises an eyebrow. “Unless you want to honeymoon in a JFK bathroom,” he says. “I was thinking we should do Pont Neuf for real this time, but if you must—” He makes a face, but makes like he’s going to get down on one knee anyway.

Yunho grabs him by both arms. “Changmin!” He hauls Changmin upright with arousing strength. “What are you—oh!” He breaks off, no doubt back in his childhood bedroom with Changmin’s dick down his throat, remembering how he blackmailed promises out of Changmin with his tongue alone, and swallows.

The track of Changmin’s eyes over the jump of Yunho’s Adam’s apple is not missed by either of them. 

“Paris,” Yunho breathes. “It’s the city of love.” 

Changmin darts in for a quick kiss, polite as he can be. “Awesome,” he says. “I’ve always wanted to try snail.”

He disembarks from the bathroom stall with Yunho trailing after him, failing to get out protests.

“Wait—Changdol—what—you don’t have a ring already, do you—”

“Huh,” Changmin says, pausing to look at the closed for repairs sign that the man from before must have very kindly dragged in front of the door to the bathroom. “How nice of him.” He tracks a bundle of pink balloons around a corner and remembers rather suddenly that it’s almost Valentine’s Day.

Yunho comes out of the door after him, still speaking, and nearly collides with Changmin’s back. Immediately he’s swearing to make a sailor blush. 

Changmin stands and takes the verbal beating, then reaches back to so that he can interlace their hands. He tugs Yunho up to stand beside him. It’s possible that _he_ might be blushing, but he absolutely does not care. “Hyung,” he says, interrupting Yunho’s continued distress about spontaneously deciding to get married in Paris. “We’re probably not going to get to Paris.”

Yunho’s mouth falls open and then snaps closed.

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Changmin continues, gesturing around at all the pink lining the airport. He shoots Yunho a grin. “We’re not celebrities anymore.”

Yunho’s mouths rounds in realization. “Oh,” he says. “Well. I guess I’ll settle for Jeju, then.”

Changmin tugs him closer, sparing a sudden thought for their carryon luggage, which they stupidly left on the plane. Hopefully Kyuhyun or Heechul-hyung had the wherewithal to grab it, otherwise they’re screwed. Before Changmin can get too upset, he’s distracted by Yunho’s beautiful eyes. They’re sparkling again. “Oh, you’ll settle, will you,” Changmin says.

Yunho clasps his hands behind Changmin’s head and grins.  “Yes,” he says. “I mean, you’re no Choikang Changmin.” He gives Changmin a rather lascivious eyebrow waggle. “But I guess you’ll do.” He pauses. “And my parents could do Jeju.”

There’s a moment, the air sucked out of their tiny bubble by the thought of inviting in reality—of doing meet-the-parents with the actual people who birthed and raised Yunho, and not just projections. Then they’re interrupted by a very angry pair of Changmin’s best friends. 

“There you are,” grumbles Kyuhyun, changed out of his flight attendant garb and accompanied by an eager looking Minho. 

Minho waves when he sees Changmin and bows when he sees Yunho. 

Yunho’s still got both arms around Changmin’s neck, but it’s starting to feel less romantic and more suffocating. Changmin tries to disengage without drawing attention to the fact. “Hyung—” 

Before Changmin can say more, Kyuhyun shoves Changmin’s suitcase at them both, and Yunho lets go of Changmin so that the PASIV—the mother fucking _PASIV—_ doesn’t hit the floor.

Fuck.

Changmin forgot the PASIV.

The PASIV.

The _PASIV_.

The one Jaejoong stole from the Korean Army like a copycat.

That PASIV.

Changmin forgot that PASIV. 

“You’re welcome,” Kyuhyun is saying, still looking cross, but Changmin’s not really paying attention to him. He’s too busy panicking silently. “I mean, I don’t have one, but I don’t need one--I just mooch off you or Heechul-hyung or Ryeongu—and I know how you get about that thing anyway. You’d think Jaejoong-hyung had memorized the serial number and would one day agree to work a job with you so that you could rub it in his face—what are you doing?” Kyuhyun says, trailing off mid tirade and squinting between Changmin, who’s really just standing their innocently, and Yunho, who’s suddenly feeling up Changmin’s hand. 

Okay maybe Changmin’s feeling his hand up right back, but come on. It’s Jung Yunho. Changmin would like to see Kyuhyun try not to be affected by the man’s heart eyes. (Not really. Changmin would rather commit best friend-icide.)

“What?”

Kyuhyun keeps squinting, eyes fixed on the hand holding. When that gets him no response, he gestures.

Changmin lifts his chin. “Have you never seen people hold hands before?”

Kyuhyun lifts both of his hands. “Whoa—”

“Aw, Changdol, you do care,” interrupts Yunho, expression particularly mischievous. “You were so focused on following me that you forgot to take the—” He stops himself with a stutter when Changmin’s grip tightens and his chest starts to rumble. “—Your luggage,” Yunho finishes, pleasantly. “I take it all back. Choikang Changmin has got nothing on you.”

Kyuhyun blinks, hands drooping in front of him. “What? Strongest what?”

“I’m sure you could get us a flight to Paris for our honeymoon,” Yunho keeps going, steamrolling right over Changmin’s friends. 

Minho audibly gasps.

Kyuhyun looks honestly shocked.

Changmin ought to kill them both.

“Are you _married_ , Changmin-hyung?” asks Minho. He sounds so honestly happy about it that Changmin can’t give him grief.

“Not really—”

“Only in dreams,” Yunho explains happily. 

Kyuhyun’s eyes dart to meet Changmin’s, one brow lifting.

Changmin holds Yunho’s hand tightly and nods carefully.

His friend turns back to Yunho.

“I did all the proposing,” Yunho says.

Changmin sputters. “Badly!”

“Changdol’s going to do it in reality,” Yunho finishes, ignoring him. “Properly.”

Changmin winces. “I wasn’t actually going to propose to you in a public restroom,” he says.

“But he promised me Paris.”

“Liar,” Changmin grumbles, still holding tight to Yunho’s hand. He has the bizarre urge to kiss it, or something, but he holds it together somehow. He’s not lost all sense, yet. 

Kyuhyun finally seems to take that in. “Right,” he says. “So—you remember, then?”

Yunho blinks.

Changmin winces again. “Look—Kyu—”

“Remember,” Yunho repeats. 

Kyuhyun looks between them worriedly, starting to step back. “Uh, yeah, clearly you remember marrying this asshole last July?”

Changmin feels like he’s holding hands with an impending natural disaster, not just a man. “Right, well, thanks for giving me my luggage, Kyu. Minho.” He pastes a smile on his face, fumbles both suitcase handles into his left hand, and then leaves, tugging Yunho along with his right hand purposefully as he goes.

“Wow,” he hears Minho say as they go. “You really put your foot it in it, huh.”

“Shut _up_ , Minho,” snaps Kyuhyun.

Changmin keeps walking, trying to find a Korean Air counter. They’re in the wrong part of the airport for that, but he cranes his neck anyway. 

Yunho follows him silently, metaphorically thunder-storming. 

Changmin sighs. “Hyung. You know why I didn’t tell you.”

Yunho tightens his grip on Changmin’s hand. “I know, and I hate it,” he says. “I hate knowing you suffered.” 

Changmin keeps silent, because the conversation isn’t new. Finally, Yunho sighs. After a few more moments of silence, he nudges Changmin’s arm.

“Hmm?”

“So you really forgot the PASIV because of me,” he says.

Changmin flushes.

Yunho reaches around and takes hold of his suitcase. Changmin’s rapidly cramping fingers are utterly grateful. “I don’t mind,” Yunho says after a few more strides. “I think it’s sweet.”

Changmin blushes even harder. 

“You love me more than you hate—” Yunho stops talking rather abruptly, cheeks pinking.

Changmin squeezes his hand again. “Maybe they don’t need to flee the country every time we go home,” he says.

Yunho makes to speak.

“I mean, the day I work with any of them is the day hell freezes over,” Changmin is quick to interject before Yunho can propose a reunion like the sentimental, over-forgiving asshole he is. “But I maybe will stop making aggressive phone calls.” He pauses to breathe in and out a few times. “Maybe.” 

Yunho exhales. “That’s good, because I pay for our phone plan, and you’re really racking up international minutes—” He stops when he sees the look on Changmin’s face, and then grins, expression very suddenly going shy. “Gosh, I love you,” he says. “I’m so glad I didn’t forget.”

Changmin’s going to cry again, that fucker. He settles for white knuckling Yunho’s fingers and doing his best to cut off both of their circulations. “Me too,” he says. “Me too.”

They don’t get a flight to Paris.

They don’t even get a flight back to Seoul.

Changmin was too busy doing his usual paranoia thing to account for the sudden need to be home and wedding/proposal planning, so instead he and Yunho hole up in a hotel room and wait for news from Siwon-hyung. He calls not forty-eight hours later to tell them it absolutely worked, and to expect the bank transfers to go through ASAP.

Changmin hacks Isamu’s Facebook and Instagram accounts in time for the extremely romantic and dramatic fucking photos of him and Kaito _embracing in the rain_ to go online on both social media platforms. He pays for Heechul-hyung and Siwon-hyung’s totally-not-honeymoon cruise.

He and Yunho go sightseeing. Yunho is radiant. Changmin spends the three days near-constantly flicking his grandmother’s lighter.

“Are you a would-be arsonist or are you just glad to see me?” says Yunho, the bastard.

Changmin scowls at him. “Shut up.”

“Make me,” Yunho replies.

It’s not Paris, but it’s a good three days.

 

* * *

 

New York back to Seoul is a miserable fifteen plus hours of air travel, and Changmin spends most of it in the unenviable middle seat, pressed up close to Yunho, who won the window. They fly economy because Yunho gets sentimental, so the seat next to Changmin is a seven year old boy, just precocious enough that the woman across the aisle—his mother—keeps apologizing.

Changmin knows the nice thing would be to switch seats with her—her husband is sitting in the window seat coloring with their other, much more well-behaved child—but Changmin looks down at Yunho’s head, resting on his shoulder, and is loathe to give it up.

Besides.

Not that long ago, Changmin had children. One precocious seven year old is nothing compared to two of them, especially when both of them have inherited Changmin’s impressive wealth of sarcasm and sparkling wit. And—okay, it’s possible Changmin is tired too. He shoots the kid one last look, apologizes, and then tilts his head down to rest against Yunho’s. He’s probably imagining it, but right before he falls asleep, Changmin swears he feels Yunho smile. But that would be ridiculous. Yunho wouldn’t leave Changmin alone with a small child.

\--

Yunho would absolutely leave Changmin alone with a small child. Yunho is dead to Changmin—Yunho is soon to be divorced from Changmin, and they’re not even married yet.

“I’m so sorry,” the kid’s mother says, bowing profusely and clutching the demon in question probably a little too tightly. 

Changmin somehow manages to smile back at her, and when Yunho kicks him, he even musters a kind, “It’s no problem, Jaehee-ssi.”

Jaehee-ssi keeps on bowing and apologizing, and Changmin keeps on having a mustache drawn on him in bright green pen.

The brat frees himself and runs back to stand next to Changmin’s legs, looking up at him with sorrowful eyes. “I’m sorry Changdol-hyung,” he says, words slurring together only slightly.

Changmin winces. He and Yunho flew using as close to their real names as possible this time around, but he’s still got a fucking reputation to uphold, and also, a fucking y chromosome. There’s one person on the planet who’s allowed a free pass to bastardize Changmin’s name into all sorts of ridiculous nicknames, and that person is not seven years old. Although he might as well be when he exchanges a fucking high five with the kid, and even gives him a goodbye hug.

“Goodbye, Yunho-hyung,” the kid says, giving Changmin another look. “I’m glad you still like Changdol-hyung, even when he has a mustache.” 

His mother goes to bow some more, before her husband seems to take pity on her and grabs both her hand and their son’s. 

“Yah,” Changmin says, frowning at Yunho, who takes one look at Changmin and starts giggling. “Stop laughing.” Changmin tells him. “I hate you—my name isn’t Changdol!” he calls after the retreating family.

Jaehee-ssi looks like she might bow again, but her kid just keeps skipping away.

“Bye, Changdol-hyung!” 

Changmin turns his murderous gaze on Yunho, who can’t even manage to compose himself. 

They get off the plane and Yunho is actually wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. 

Changmin tightens his grip on the suitcase with the PASIV and says nothing.

They pass at a bathroom and Yunho shoots Changmin a look. “Are you sure you don’t want—”

“I want to go home and to my own bathroom,” growls Changmin, not looking at him. “You asshat.”

Yunho keeps staring at him—Changmin can’t help but check out of the corner of his eye—and no doubt he’s looking at the fake facial hair, and then he has to take a few more seconds to stop laughing. “Well, I’m going to go pee,” he says finally, swiping at tears of joy. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Changmin plants himself outside the men’s room and does his best to look menacing whenever anyone walks by and stares at him for too long.

And then.

Well.

One of the shops is selling plastic kids jewelry, and Changmin may want to strangle the love of his life, but that doesn’t make the man any less of the one for him.

To his credit, Yunho realizes when to pick his battles, and doesn’t comment on Changmin’s pen-mustache for the entire trip out of the airport, instead fingering the plastic ring Changmin slipped on his ring finger the moment he left the bathroom.

“You’re still doing it properly with a diamond,” Yunho says as they make for the subway.

Changmin says nothing but doesn’t correct him.

“And you’re telling our parents,” Yunho adds, tapping his card against the machine and heading towards their track.

Changmin stares after him, annoyed. “Yunho-hyung,” he complains. He lengthens his stride so that he can catch him, shuffling through his pockets for his own Cashbee card. It’s been so long since they’ve worked in Seoul. Changmin’s going to have to put more money on it. Or Lee Hyerim will have to. 

Changmin catches up with Yunho only slightly out of breath, already itching to be home. Home. He and Yunho have been sharing an apartment since before the Creabeau Job (for ease, since they never stayed long enough in one country to warrant two leases, and because living with four other men was something Changmin gave up when he fled the military), but somehow this time going home is different. They’d been back since before the Maeda Job, but still Changmin can’t wait. It has been fifty years. And say what you want about the rest of Changmin’s life post-Creabeau, but their apartment was never the problem.

It was the one place where he and Yunho mixed, cohabitation ruining all attempted boundaries. 

Now they can just make it even more their home. Changmin knows Yunho’s going to be absolutely intolerable about it. They’ll probably have to christen every room in the place. A true hardship. Honestly. 

“Say nothing,” Changmin says, when he and Yunho shuffle onto the train and garner more than a few long looks because of Changmin’s facial doodles.

Yunho very wisely zips his lips the entire trip.

They’re barely through the door to the place before Changmin is tossing off his shoes and making a beeline for their bathroom. He runs cold water over both hands, too impatient to wait for it to warm up. He scrubs at his face, hard.

Outside, he can hear Yunho trundling their suitcases into the foyer and pulling off his own pair of shoes. 

“This is so weird,” Yunho says.

Changmin gives up on just using his hands and grabs a towel, wetting it and rubbing his face and lips.

“It’s like we’ve only been gone—”

“Seven months,” Changmin says. He’s going to have to do a deep clean, probably air the place out and throw everything bit of bedding in the wash, because sometimes Kyuline hack each other’s lives and rent each other’s places out on Airbnb. “Yeah, I know.” Changmin finishes with his mustache and eyes the irritated skin above his mouth with a sigh. “Your totem is in your pocket.” He turns off the water and rings out the towel. “Mine too, actually.” He’d put it there after they got through TSA, twitchy because he’d had to empty the fuel out, despite its inability to light regardless. “There’s lighter fluid under the sink—” 

Changmin leaves the bathroom, yawning, to find Yunho standing motionless in the middle of their apartment. He’s got one hand on his suitcase and one hand on the dumb plastic ring. “Aw,” he says softly. “I liked the mustache.” 

Changmin eyes him strangely, before crossing the room to sort out his totem.

Yunho lets him fish it out of his pocket without comment, unmoving and silent as Changmin heads for the kitchen. When it’s done and Changmin’s totem refuses to light because it’s reality, Changmin sets it down on the counter. “Now, yours?” he says, finally ifting his gaze to meet Yunho’s. 

And then he stops.

For two seconds, Yunho stares back at him, and then he gaze slides to the side and back across their apartment. “It’s weird, being back,” he says again, fiddling with the ring some more.

Changmin thinks back to in the bathroom, to the split second of devastation that had crossed Yunho’s face before he’d distracted Changmin with kisses. He thinks about all the times he checked his totem over the past four days. He thinks about all the times Yunho did not.

He swallows.

“Hyung?”

Yunho is gazing down at the ring with a soft expression, mouth turned up at the corners. “I actually really like it,” he says, petting the dumb, fake, pink diamond happily. “But don’t think this means you’re getting away with not doing it properly later.”

There is a lump in the back of Changmin’s throat. He crosses the room in three strides and folds Yunho into his arms, wrapped around him so tightly that Yunho wheezes, all the air coming out of him in an audible gasp.

“Changdol-ah?” 

Changmin buries his face in his hair and breathes him in. “You know I love you,”  he says.

“Of course—”

Changmin doesn’t let Yunho finish. “You know this is real. You know I’m real.” He says it quickly, like by making it a statement he’ll somehow make it a fact. 

Yunho doesn’t answer.

Changmin wants to cry. He swallows a laugh and holds him closer. “God, I broke you,” he can’t help but mumble.

That gets him a reaction--Yunho’s hands trying to pull Changmin away from him so that they can make eye contact, Yunho’s downturned mouth audible as he says, “Changmin—”

Changmin hugs him harder. “Right,” he says. “That’s okay,” he says. “It doesn’t matter,” he says. “Because I love you,” he says. 

Yunho gets fingers under Changmin’s chin and pries him back so that Changmin has to look at him, tragedy written into every line on his face. “Changminnie.”

Changmin gives him an honest smile. “It’s okay, Yunho-hyung,” he says. “You’re okay.”

For a second it looks like _Yunho_ may cry.

“I’ll believe for both of us,” says Changmin. He licks his lips. “You just. Believe in me.” 

And Yunho laughs, honestly looking surprised. “Of course,” he says. “Always,” he says.

Changmin holds him. It’s enough.

 

* * *

 

There are good days.

There are bad days.

Yunho never gets comfortable handing real-world weapons. 

Changmin never gets comfortable sleeping alone.

They both have nightmares. 

They get fucking real world married.

It’s _more_ than enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, authorial intent is this is reality, but I’m a firm believer in the author is dead after so-- 
> 
> Second, the initial ending to this story when it was first conceived all those long years ago, was right after the ‘Yunho doesn’t answer’ line, but I was taken in my the romance of the situation, and the realization that it the purpose of the story wasn’t really to knife wound the reality of Yunho never being able to believe reality is reality, but instead to speak to the fact that that didn’t matter because he believed in Changmin. 
> 
> I was also attached to the duplicity and lack of certainty of the movie ‘Inception’ and wanted to have that same feeling at the end. But ultimately, I realized that it didn’t matter if it was reality or not, or if Yunho was ‘fixed.’ The story was about more than just that. And the message I wanted to end on was that it was okay if he didn’t remember. If he wasn’t made perfect. If he had bad days and good days. They’d face them together, and that’s what was important. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for giving this story a chance. It’s quite different from what I usually do, and I hope I was able to do it--and you--and the movie--justice. 
> 
> [Tumblr masterpost](https://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/185391613090/inception) || [Twitter masterpost](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/1196223975132737541)


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